


Resistance

by MrRiddle



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: AU, Drama, M/M, Non-Canonical, Psychology, Slash, Torture, Violence, Yaoi, m/m - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-03-01 02:51:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 105,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2756828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrRiddle/pseuds/MrRiddle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1986 Voldemort gained victory and established his regime all over Great Britain. Magical world is secluded from muggles and is being ruled by the Dark Lord and his generals - ex-Death Eaters. All muggleborns were branded as political criminals and lost most of their rights. Muggleborn children are still accepted to study at Hogwarts, however, in 1997 a law was promulgated, that prohibited any wizards and witches to have a muggle parent, and all the non-magical relatives were to be executed in order to keep the magical Britain safe from muggles. The opposition has formed their own Resistance Party and keeps constantly fighting the Dark Lord and his new government. There are no horcruxes in this story, no prophecy, the Potter family was never attacked. Harry grew up with his parents, went to Hogwarts, where he met his two best friends Ron and Hermione, graduated seven years later and found a job at the Diagon Alley. Nobody knows Harry Potter - he is an ordinary half-blood wizard, living an ordinary life. Or at least he used to think so, until he found himself involved into an intricate and dangerous game...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: nothing that is related to HP belongs to me, I make no profit from writing this fanfiction.
> 
> Warning: non canonical, AU, M/M slash, explicit language, graphic violence, abuse, rating for a reason.

_"The path of least resistance is the path of the loser." H. G. Wells_

The world kept turning. As the water that always flows, the fire that burns, the time that keeps running - life passed by and he could only stare helplessly after it and wonder what had he done wrong. At some point in time, perhaps, he really should have thought twice about what was he going to do, but he never did, trusting somebody else's opinion. As always. It was a bitter realization he was forced to take in: he was incapable of making his own decisions, too inexperienced, too young, dependent, childish, irresponsible. He used to tell himself, convince would be the right word, that it wasn't his fault he ended up like this, it was the world, the life, the others' actions that had affected him so. However, and it was truly pointless to lie to his own self anymore, he knew he couldn't blame politics and government for his inconsistency and uncertainty. He was failing constantly not because his parents had put him into this position, but because he himself had never tried to change it, to find something else, to escape the destiny he loathed so much now.

Sighing forlornly, Harry blew out the bluish smoke and threw the almost finished cigarette on the ground. Its last sparkle gleamed dimly in the darkness below and died, leaving Harry in the thick gloom of a cold early spring's night. He shivered and wrapped his coat tighter around himself, pushing his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose with a trembling hand. Of course he could have whispered a warming spell, but the truth was he didn't really want to use magic when it wasn't necessary. What was the point? He wasn't going to die here.

"Harry, how long are you going to sit up there? Get down from the roof now! You will freeze yourself to death!"

His mother's voice dissipated into nothingness, as she went back into the house, loudly banging the door closed behind her. She wasn't in her best mood today. Just like yesterday and the day before that, and the last week... Funny, Harry thought he had forgotten when was the last time his mother was happy. Was she ever happy at all? What did she look like when she was content, satisfied? He couldn't remember her smile.

Letting out yet another heavy sigh, Harry carefully climbed down the sewer and stepped onto the wet ground, that was soft and slippery like butter. It had been raining for days, worsening the atmosphere in the house, in their family. Involuntarily hunching his shoulders, as if he was going to be slapped on his back, Harry entered the dark hall and threw off his damp trainers and coat. He could hear clatter of dishes in the kitchen, loud shooting and screaming on the telly from the living room, soft tapping of the backdoor left open - the usual, familiar sounds that nourished the illusion of peace and harmony in the Potter household.

"Mom, I'm not hungry, I won't be dining tonight," he told Lily's back, that was bent over the sink.

His mother wasn't old, had just turned thirty eight last month, but her appearance never matched her age. Thin, even skinny, Lily was so small and weak, Harry often feared the wind would blow her off of her feet. Her once shinning red hair turned dull brown and lay lank on her shoulders. Even her skin became unhealthy pale and the deep dark circles under her eyes made his mother look sick, terminally ill. Watching her back and arms, moving constantly as some kind of a muggle robotic mechanism, Harry couldn't help but wince at the sight, pitying her.

"Fine."

Was all she said, not turning back to look at him. Did she know he smoked? Did she care? He stood there at the threshold, waiting for her to say something else, anything at all, but she never did. Twisting his lips in ire and sorrow, that had been prevailing in his mood lately, Harry walked away, rubbing on his neck uncomfortably. The older he got, the more unbearable Lily became towards him, as if she was consciously pushing him away. Why? He had no idea. He had never done anything wrong, not to his mother anyway.

His father was asleep, slumped in his favourite armchair, that had gotten worn and discolored with years. The bright light from the screen flashed over his face, turning it into a waxen mask of a deadman. James' glasses slid down to the tip of his nose and lay askew, as he bent his head at an awkward angle. He had been falling asleep more often lately, working too hard, too much, with no positive feedback. Deep lines crossed his forehead above the brow that was always creased, for he was constantly tensed, unnerved. Harry didn't want to disturb his sleep and quietly passed by and ascended the creaky stairs, habitually avoiding the steps that produced most of the noise.

Just another boring weekend at home. And what had he been expecting, really? He was too old to enjoy spending time with his parents, who barely talked to each other. Eighteen, he was already eighteen - to think that time was running so fast! A year had passed since he graduated from Hogwarts, but for Harry it felt like a lifetime, it felt as if his seven years at the school were somebody else's, or he spent them on another planet, in another universe. Far away from here.

Smiling ruefully, Harry picked up a letter from Hermione that her owl brought earlier. After graduation she left the country, went traveling around the world and extending her already vast knowledge of both life and magic. He envied her sometimes, but always hated himself for that, for he knew Hermione had to live like this, for the sake of her parents. Harry often thought that Lily should have made the very same choice years ago, before his birth, before she married James Potter. But she chose to stay and now she was unhappy, miserable. Hermione, who had always been rational and never put emotions and her heart's desires above her sense, chose freedom and safety of her family over love and life with Ron.

"It would have hardly been a life anyway," Ron told him after they had seen her off at the airport almost a year ago. "Look at your mom, she can't work, she can't practice magic for pleasure, she can't do anything except having children with her pureblood husband. I can't imagine Hermione living like that, she would have died... No, she is better off without me, us, this wretched place."

Tears ran down his cheeks, as they slowly walked down the streets of London, having have apparated from Heathrow straight to the Piccadilly. Harry had never seen his friend cry before and this unwanted experience hurt him greatly. He didn't know where Ron was now, they rarely communicated, exchanging simple, empty letters. Sometimes Harry thought that Hermione was the only reason they had ever become friends at all, they didn't share much in common, he could honestly admit this to himself.

Sitting down at his desk, he read the three pages filled with small, accurate handwriting one more time and pulled a blank parchment out of the drawer to write an answer. In her every letter Hermione wrote about the many places she was visiting, about different magical towns and cultures, schools and traditions she had discovered - she knew very well how much Harry wished to travel and how hungry he was for information, news, something else that had nothing to do with Britain and British magical government. Like a thirsty traveler in the desert, Harry was frantically looking for water, but there was only sand around him and Hermione's letters were his rescuing mirage.

Taking a deep breath, he put the tip of his quill against the paper and froze in uncertainty. What was he going to tell her about this time? His answers got short and taciturn with time, for there was nothing new in his life, and the news of what was going on here could have been easily accessed from anywhere else in the world. There was nothing to tell her. Since their last correspondence absolutely nothing had happened. Absolutely nothing.

Staring dumbly into the darkness outside the window, Harry once again thought back on his mother and the way her life had turned out. What had she been dreaming of when she was eighteen? Could Lily imagine her life would be this? This lonesome existence and a mark on her shoulder, as if she was a thief or a murderer - like one of those wizards who now were their government, their leaders, their gods and demons. He couldn't believe she loved James so much, she couldn't leave him for her own sake - as a pureblood wizard from an ancient family his father never bothered anyone, and if he hadn't married a muggleborn, he could have even gotten a high position at the Ministry. But they stayed together instead, and now he was an ordinary Auror, a mere policeman of a wizarding world, and she couldn't even leave her house except for the necessary medical check outs at St Mungo's. His mother had no right to work, to shop, to teach or study further, she had no right to walk in the streets before or after particularly set hours. Was this the life Lily dreamed of when she had discovered she was a witch? Harry sincerely doubted that.

"Dear Hermione," he began, "How I wish I could have run away with you."

Harry stopped, frowning at the wryly scribbled words. Could he really tell Hermione all of his troubles in a letter? He felt self-conscious to burden her with what she had no interest in. Would she have told him if her mother turned into a depressive, bitter woman, that lost all her light and seemed lifeless, like a broken doll? Perhaps, Lily was already dead?

Shaking his head vehemently, Harry berated himself for even daring to think of her like that - he never wished to see her dead, never! But at the same time he couldn't help but wonder if there was any love left in her. The way she treated him - as if he was an empty spot - suggested that she could barely stand him. Did she blame him for her misfortune? If she did, then what was his fault exactly except for the fact that he was born? Harry knew he was, probably, overreacting, but Lily's sadness and misery disturbed and upset him. He had this nagging feeling, that caused the unpleasant itching under his skin, that there was something he could do to help her, but he was too stupid to find out what exactly.

He heard the old clock strike midnight downstairs. Had he really spent so much time musing over a letter? Harry crumpled the parchment and banished it with a flick of his fingers. He rarely used his wand, preferring wandless magic he never knew he was capable of. At the school they were taught that only powerful wizards and witches of pure blood could have this ability. Having discovered his rare talent, Harry decided to keep it a secret even from his parents, practicing every night in the darkness and safety of his bedroom. He hadn't gone very far, but he was certain it was simply a matter of time and persistence.

Yawning and stretching his back, Harry took off his clothes and crawled under the covers on the bed, coiling around one of his old, puffy pillows. Placing the glasses on the bedside table next to his holly wand, he groaned at the thought of how early he had to get up tomorrow. He hated Mondays. They delivered new books at Flourish & Blotts on Mondays and it was his job to come two hours earlier and sort them out, mark their cost and put them on their rightful places on the shelves.

xxx

Harry sat at the counter, paging lazily through the Advanced Defense Against Dark Arts, bored and awfully tired, sleepy. Shop assistant wasn't his dream job, but he didn't want to become an Auror either - they had enough of those in the family. Here, at least, he had an opportunity to read any book he wished to, for free. What was he going to do next, after this place bored him to death, ha hadn't yet decided, however, he was certain he wasn't going to be a salesman ever again. Mondays were truly the worst days, for there were few customers and lots of work with delivery, Harry could swear a Monday was once cursed by Merlin or Morgana - everything went wrong on this day. He had already accidentally hit his head on the shelf twice today, there was one torn book in the package, which, fortunately was new, and he was able to restore it to its original condition. It was already noon and there hadn't been a customer yet.

Sighing in resignation, Harry tried to concentrate on the text before him. An Auror or an assistant - he wasn't going to let himself degrade and lose his skill. Not that he was a fighter, but one thing his father taught him well was that he was ought to be capable of protecting his family and friends, should such a necessity transpire. After his friends disappeared out of his life there were only his parents left to care for.

"Potter."

And Harry naively hoped he would never have to hear this voice again. Slowly raising his eyes, he looked up at the tall dark form before the counter. Mondays, the damned Mondays!

"Headmaster Snape," he greeted quietly, praying that the old bat would leave without causing him any more troubles. Seven years at Hogwarts was quite enough. "How may I help you?"

"I have heard you never applied for the Auror program, although you had an acceptable reference and NEWTs. I could never imagine that the son of James Potter would fall so low," Severus Snape raised an imperious eyebrow, giving his surroundings a mocking, pitiful look. "You surprised me, Potter," he added snidely, "Should have done so during your stay at Hogwarts."

"A pleasure to see you too, sir," Harry bowed his head respectfully, avoiding to look into the bottomless onyx eyes, that watched him hatefully.

"Where is the owner?" Snape wrinkled his long, crooked nose in disgust.

"He is not here today, sir."

"What? That old hag dragged me here and dared to not show up?!"

Harry involuntarily winced, hearing the painfully familiar hiss, full of rage and venom. Now he was going to get a handful for Mr Stone's mistake - what a perfect way to start the day.

"I am sorry, sir, he never said you were to come here. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

It wasn't that hard to stay calm and respectful towards Snape. Ever since he had become a headmaster - in Harry's first year - everybody tiptoed around him and no one dared to even look at him in a wrong fashion. The price for such arrogance was very high, for the snarky man was one of Voldemort's closest followers, one of his generals. Apart from his position at the school, Snape was the Head of the Department of Education at the Ministry of Magic, and his visit at the book shop was truly surprising, for the man of his rank couldn't afford himself to spend time on such nonsense as shopping.

"No," Snape barked, narrowing his eyes at the young wizard in front of him. "Tell him that if he ever contacts me again he will find himself in one of Azkaban's cells!"

And in a whirl of black robes he vanished into thin air before Harry had managed to reply. Rolling his eyes and inwardly cursing his luck for meeting Snape here, of all places, he stretched out his hand and summoned a cup of tea from the back room, while nobody could see him perform such a fit. Sighing and scratching his neck, Harry once again immersed himself in the book. It wasn't that bad, he thought absentmindedly, if anything, Snape was very civil today. Perhaps, he stopped seeing only James Potter in him or he simply stopped treating him as a dunderhead? Harry hoped for both. Being Severus Snape's enemy was one of the worst things in their dark times and his father, unfortunately, had managed to get on the potions master’s black list.

When Harry closed the shop it was already dark outside - he could see the first stars in the sky, as they blinked sleepily at him, only waking up it seemed. Smiling sadly at the memories of the old fairy tales his mother used to read him before bed many, many years ago, he slowly walked to the apparition point, day-dreaming of traveling in time and space. He knew he was too much of a romantic idiot, filling his head with such rubbish, but he honestly didn't feel like an eighteen year old adult. He dearly wished he could go back and be the little, carefree Harry again, too young to understand what was going on and why was his mother crying. Shivering under a particularly sharp blow of the cold northern wind, he hastened his pace, instantly forgetting about the stars and cursing the awful weather.

"Harry! Haven't seen you in ages, pup!"

Upon entering his house in Godric's Hollow Harry found himself squeezed in a bear hug of his godfather. As a wealthy pureblood and a dark wizard Sirius Black held a higher position at the Department of Law Enforcement and often went away for long periods of time, traveling all over the country and monitoring the work of different smaller divisions.

"My, but you've grown!" Sirius held him by the shoulders, giving him an accessing look. The man has aged, dramatically, Harry thought, taking in the deepened wrinkles and hollow cheeks, tired grey eyes.

"Great to see you, Sirius, I've missed you," he smiled modestly, trying to arrange his hair back in the order after Sirius ruffled it playfully.

"Prongs, you never told me how much Harry have grown! Look at him! He's like a boy from a magazine! He took after Lily, thank Merlin for that!" Sirius laughed, throwing his arm over his friend's shoulders and steering him into the kitchen, where Harry saw the table had been already set.

"Padfoot, please, I was just as lovely at eighteen!" James pushed his dark hair back and wriggled his eyebrows haughtily.

It was a wonder how much younger the two Aurors looked when they were together. It felt like they could let themselves be children again in the company of each other. Harry smiled at them, glad to see that at least they were not losing their hearts. He sat down next to his godfather and prepared to listen to the endless chatter about the glorious past of the Marauders. However, conversation was strained, for Sirius kept staring at him for some unknown reason and kept sending James strange, pointed looks, but his father carefully ignored them.

"You're already eighteen, Harry, are you not?" his godfather suddenly asked and Harry jerked at the sound of Lily's fork grit against the plate.

"Yeah, I am. Why?" he stole brief glances at his parents, who both looked concerned, especially his mother.

Twisting his napkin in his hands, James leaned closer to Sirius, "Listen, Padfoot, I don't think we should drag Harry into this, it is not-"

"Come on, James! Are you going to tell me it is not his war?" the other man interrupted him, throwing his arms in the air.

"What are you talking about?" Harry looked between the two helplessly, having no idea what was going on and just where did his godfather want to drag him into.

"No!" Lily suddenly sprang on her feet, hovering over Sirius, who had enough sense to look frightened. "No!" she repeated furiously, "Don't you two dare to get Harry involved into this! As if it is not enough for me to wait for the news of James' death every day! He is still a child, let him live while he can!"

He couldn't remember when was the last time he saw his mother so angry, so fierce. Her green eyes blazed with fire and he could have sworn he saw the steam coming out of her ears.

"Mom? What's the matter?" he tried weakly but cowered under her warning glare and shut up.

"Lily," Sirius raised his hands in a placating gesture, "I understand, I understand better than anyone - he is my godson after all. But Harry is not a child anymore, no matter how much you wish him to be. He is almost a man, he needs to act like a man as well."

"And you?" Lily attacked her husband, not even sparing the dark wizard another glance, "Why won't you say something? Hm? Or maybe you agree with him? You don't care for your son's life, future, but you care for your games?" she hissed snidely, with such malice behind her words, Harry couldn't help but stare at her, not recognizing his mother in this suddenly scary witch, distorted with hatred.

"We don't play games, Lily!" James also stood up, affronted. "I agree, Harry is not a child anymore, but I also agree it is not the time for him to join us!"

"Not the time? Not the time?" Lily shrieked, "So you are planning to get him killed later, in a few years? Tell me when, I will order a coffin in advance!"

"Do you even hear yourself? The Hell are you talking about?" James raised his voice, bringing his fist down on the table.

Seeing that his parents got into yet another fight and were not going to explain the reason behind it, Harry quietly stood up, put his dishes away and went outside to climb onto the roof. He found he liked sitting there, even when it was cold. It was quiet and peaceful there and the moon seemed so big and the stars so bright, he could have spent his every night on this spot, if only he didn't need to go to work. Harry took out a cigarette and lit it up with a power of his will. Inhaling deeply, he held the smoke inside for some time and let it out slowly, with a twisted kind of pleasure. Smoking was harming him just like any other muggle - wizard or not, he wasn't immortal and invincible, but he still enjoyed it. It soothed his nerves and turned his head a little, just enough to help him relax but stay sober.

"What are you smoking? Winston?" He jerked at the sound of Sirius' voice over his ear, but his godfather's strong hands held him in his place. "I'm not going to tell them," Sirius barked out a laugh, "Besides, even if I told them now they wouldn't remember it after they are finished with each other." He held out his open palm, waiting for Harry to share his pack.

"What is this fight about anyway?" Harry asked, when his godfather sat down next to him and lightened up his cigarette.

Keeping silent for a moment, Sirius once again gave him that strange look, as of he was considering Harry's abilities and usefulness. "Your father and I are members of the Resistance Party and we... well, I wish for you to join us."

"The Resistance?" Harry breathed out, shocked. Everybody knew about them, but nobody knew who they actually were. Rumors had it that the party was founded by the former members of the Order of the Phoenix after Albus Dumbledore had to leave the country and move his political activities elsewhere in Europe. "But... but you are both Aurors! You serve the Dark Lord and his government, don't you?"

"You are truly very naive," Sirius grimaced, patting him on the shoulder sympathetically. "Of course we work at the Ministry, we serve Voldemort, but we also wish to finish his reign and get back to how we were before. We want a better life than this," he smiled bitterly, as the smoke slowly crawled out of his nostrils and down his chin and neck.

"But mom says she waits for the news of dad's death every day... What does she mean? What do you do?" Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing. It was one thing to secretly admire the brave soldiers of Resistance from afar, the fearless defenders of the Free Wizards of Britain, who constantly fought the Dark Army all over the country, but it was a completely different matter altogether to know that your father was one of them.

"We rarely duel them, Harry, don't take Lily's words to heart," Sirius growled, irritated. "What we do is diversion. We spy, collect information, put together dossiers on every Voldemort's follower, send it abroad to Dumbledore and his alliance and wait for the perfect moment to strike from within. Open confrontation and fighting isn't efficient, as you can see for yourself."

"So you want me to.... what, to help you spy? But how can I... I've never..." Harry stammered, astonished and scared. His heart beat maddeningly against his ribcage, demanding action, excitement of the shadowing, of danger, but his mind was rationally trying to sober him up, helpfully offering images of the cruelly tortured and executed traitors, whose bodies were usually put on display at the Diagon Alley and at the Ministry to teach the others to behave themselves. He hissed suddenly in pain, as the forgotten cigarette burned out in his hand and a hot ash fell on his fingers.

"Now, now, Harry, I never said anything about making you a spy. I simply wish for you to help us out any way you can. You work at the book shop - we could safely pass our delivery and mail through you, for example. Books as a way of communicating is a perfect disguise and nobody would ever suspect you - a mere shop assistant," Sirius said nonchalantly, pointing his wand at Harry's hand and healing it.

"I see."

He took a calming breath and tried to be sensible about this. On one hand he wanted to participate, to feel the adrenaline, to be useful to those who never gave up their fight against the Dark Lord, but on the other... it wasn't in his nature, he was too soft, too kind, too weak for that sort of work. And he wasn't going to deny it - he was scared, even if Sirius was assuring him of his safety. He felt it in his gut - it all wasn't as easy and simple and his godfather was making it up.

"Listen, pup, I know it's a lot to take in," Sirius looked him straight in the eyes, "Tomorrow we are having a small meeting with some of the members, you could come and listen to what they all have to say and see for yourself if you are ready to join or not. What do you say, hm?"

"Sounds like a plan," Harry nodded, strangely distant, as if his lips were moving on their own accord.

Sirius smiled brightly, as his eyes shone with pleasure and mischief, "Tomorrow at eight, at Rover's bar in muggle London. It's not far from Diagon, you will easily find it. You won't have any problem going out, won't you?" he teased.

"No," Harry smiled back nervously, "Of course I won't."

Going out into muggle world wasn't strictly prohibited, but a wizard had to have a special license for that, which was the guarantee that he wasn't going to perform any kind of magic or communicate with any muggles. Harry had it, though rarely used it, for muggles were just as boring as wizards and had all the same problems, if not more.

"Great. I'm waiting for you tomorrow," Sirius got up, patting him on the head affectionately. "I shouldn't remind you not tell your mom, though, right?" he laughed and jumped down on the ground and got back inside the house.

Harry stared at the newborn moon, suddenly aware of what he had done. He was going to come to the secret meeting of traitors! Of course, in his opinion they were heroes, but this wasn't going to save his life, should he get captured and interrogated. Something was telling him, a premonition of sorts, that he wasn't going to walk away a fee man tomorrow - if he did come to meet them, they would grab a hold of him and use him as they see fit. What was he getting himself into?

The first heavy drops of rain snapped Harry out of his stupor and he hastily climbed down. Passing by the kitchen, he saw that Lily and James had calmed down and were drinking tea with Sirius, but the tension in the air hasn't escaped his senses and he didn't stop, thinking that they all were better off without him right now, as was he without them. Lying in his bed, sleepless and apprehensive, Harry thought of tomorrow's evening. He was too curious and excited to miss an opportunity to meet the real Resistance, to listen to the great men. Perhaps, even if they did take him in, they would find him useless or would give him rare, elementary tasks? Being a self-conscious and modest man that he was, Harry, however, was also honest and he had learnt to accept the fact that he was a coward. But coward or not, he wanted to help his father and godfather, to help their cause. It was worth the risk, wasn't it?

xxx

Frozen, Harry looked around, watching the familiar faces of his housemates from Hogwarts, all seated around one huge round table, very much like King Arthur's knights. Dean Tomas, Katie Bell, the Creevey brothers, Angelina Johnson, Seamus Finnigan, Oliver Wood. Harry wasn't surprised to see George and Fred Weasley present, for it would have been truly unnatural for them not to join the Resistance, but what shocked him the most was the presence of Neville and Ron. He could have never expected such courage and ambition from the former and he surely had never thought that the latter would be at all interested in politics.

"Well, I don't suppose I need to introduce Harry here, you are all gryffindors, and this is a kind of a family reunion," Sirius rubbed his hands together excitedly, smiling brilliantly at the young people, who were watching him with adoration.

Harry could see pride battling fear in James' eyes and looked away, afraid his father's uncertainty would deprive him of the last bits of his dignity and he would run away to never ever come back and even think of plotting against the Dark Lord again.

"Now, Harry is here to feel the taste of what we do, so let's start with our usual reports."

Siting across from Ron, Harry couldn't help but stare at his friend - the redheaded wizard had grown even taller and bigger, playing professional quidditch. His face looked more mature, rough, he was burdened with something, for his usually bright blue eyes were pale, withered, though determined. Stealing glances at others, Harry wondered what kind of Resistance it was, where all the members were barely adults, teenagers with licenses for apparating and free use of magic, nothing more. How could these people, gryffindors - whom he thought he used to know very well - spy, deceive, diverse and plot to bring down the government? He looked at his father, but James looked absolutely serious and determined as he listened to Angelina's report - no, this wasn't a joke. They all were really involved. This wasn't a game.

"You see, Harry," Sirius explained, after two more people spoke, "Everybody here works closely with one of the Voldemort's followers. We simply gather information, learn their timetable and contacts, make them trust us, so that lately they could share some important information. Ron, for example, plays for the same national team as Crabb and Goyle, whose fathers used to be in Voldemort's Inner Circle and are still his bodyguards. Neville works at St Mungo's and has access to all the health records of every Death Eater. Nothing dangerous, we simply communicate with them, that's all."

"By the way, have any of those orangutans seen the Dark Lord? They say nobody has seen him since 1993, there were even rumors that he died or that he had gone too far in the Dark Arts and turned into some kind of an ugly monster?" Katie Bell asked Ron and everybody turned to look at him, curious as well.

"I don't know if they saw him, but judging by what they are telling of their fathers' work - the bastard is very much alive," Ron gritted through his clenched teeth, wrinkling his freckled nose disdainfully at the mere thought of Voldemort.

"It would have been impossible to miss his death, for a new war would begin between his generals for the throne of the Dark Lord of the Magical Britain," James said, smiling bitterly at the young wizards and witches around him.

"Harry, you must join us, mate," Ron said firmly, looking at him expectantly. "It is the future of our world, of the growing generation."

Beautiful words - vague sense, Harry thought, frowning at the suddenly stuffy air around him. "I don't know, what could I do, really," he gave them all a small, shy smile, propping his glasses up to sit on the bridge of his nose. He always did that when he was nervous or uncomfortable. Or scared.

"Well, first, you could get rid of the glasses," Sirius drawled thoughtfully, tapping on his own badly shaven chin with an index finger.

"Get rid of my...? What for?" Harry raised his eyebrows, confused.

"Yeah, and grow out your hair, this unruly mop would never obey any brush, I remember how it was back at the school," Angelina piped in cheerfully.

"What for?" he turned to his father, but James averted his eyes, blushing slightly. "Would somebody please tell me what is going on?" Harry rose from his seat and crossed his arms over his chest, scowling at Sirius.

"There is a an open position at Lucius Malfoy's office, he is looking for a new personal assistant," his godfather elaborated, fidgeting on his chair excitedly, "You are perfect for this job, Harry! You just need to look more slick, you know, like a high-class pureblood. It is a rare chance we cannot miss - Malfoy is Voldemort's right hand, the opportunity to spy on him is priceless! But he has turned away all of our candidates so far and you are our last hope."

Blinking dumbly at the man, Harry could only open and close his mouth is shock. This wasn't some mundane delivery job, this was literally staying in the enemy's camp.

"But, but... A personal assistant? I am not some teacher's pet or an A-student, I am not Draco Malfoy - this is what he's looking for! How can I..." he fell back in his chair helplessly, staring at the cracks on the table's surface. This was insane.

"On the contrary - you are nothing like his scion, whom, as I heard, he had sent away for a time being. You would be someone new and refreshing, Harry. You are intelligent, hard-working, a talented wizard and a good-looking lad - he will take the bait."

His father's voice sounded hollow and Harry couldn't believe he was actually telling him this. Telling him, that Lucius Malfoy was going to like him and that was why he, his own father, was ready to sell him right into the enemy's arms.

"Are you out of your mind, dad?" was all he could say to this.

"Harry," James sharply turned to face him and grabbed his hands, squeezing them painfully, "We need you. He has turned away everyone we tried, no matter what kind of stories we made up for them. You would only need to bring us copies of the documents he lets you see and his contacts and meetings, that is all, Please, son, this is a golden opportunity for us, for our cause!"

Harry saw the tears in his father's pleading eyes and felt his heart break at the sight of them.  
"Believe me when I say I hate it as much as you do, but there is no other way. Harry, please, help us. If only I could, I would have taken your place, but he checks everyone for polyjuice and charms all the time, it is simply impossible to trick him with magic."

"What about mom?" He had already realized he surrendered. How could he leave his father, when the man was begging him to help. Besides, he wasn't that sure that Malfoy will take him - if he won't, then Harry wouldn't lose anything.

"I will talk to her... Explain everything, after we succeed in putting you inside," James sighed heavily, rubbing on his sweaty forehead.

"Harry, don't take us wrong," Neville said quietly, "But you really are perfect for this. Only somebody as honest and kind as you are can do it - he would never suspect you."

Hearing Neville Longbottom of all people say something like this made Harry's stomach churn. He was once again experiencing this annoying sensation of being trapped.

"When do you want me to... to go?" he asked shakily, pressing his sweating palms against the rough fabric of his jeans.

"Tomorrow at four o'clock is yet another interview at his office," Sirius smiled at him encouragingly. "Katie and Angelina would take you to the ophthalmologist and to the hairdresser and to Madame Malkin's to buy you a proper suit and robe. You must look spotless, he is keen on his own appearance and the image he had created of himself. Since you are to accompany him everywhere, you must look accordingly."

"What of my job at he shop?"

"I will send a letter out of our office, Stone wouldn't dare to have any kind of grievance against you and the Auror Division," Sirius winked conspiratorially and patted him on the back. "Besides, when Malfoy takes you, you won't need this mundane job anymore. Don't worry, Harry, everything is going to be fine!"

"Alright," Harry closed his eyes resentfully and hunched his shoulders, knowing very well that he had signed his death wish.

"I hope you understand I am doing this only for you two," he croaked to the two men, when they returned to the Godric's Hollow. "Otherwise I would have never agreed to this insanity."

"I understand, Harry," James embraced him, for the first time in years, Harry thought bitterly, "Thank you, son, thank you very much. You can't even imagine what kind of help you are providing us with."

"This is for the greater good, Harry," Sirius smiled, lighting up a cigarette.

Frowning, Harry wished them good night and went to bed, listening to his father's loud excuses before Lily for their late return. He couldn't help but wonder where had he heard this phrase before. For the greater good. Overwhelmed with the sickening fear of tomorrow's crucible he was going to withstand, Harry fell into a heavy slumber right after his head touched the pillow.

xxx

"Why, why is finding a new assistant must such a headache?!"

Harry jerked at the sudden sound of a high, whimsical voice and hastily stepped away from the mirror, in front of which he had spent the last thirty minutes. Katie and Angelina had turned him into a completely different person earlier today - he couldn't recognize his own reflection. It was hard to imagine that his hair and glasses used to change him so much. With longer hair, framing his face in soft, black waves, and with his big, green eyes wide open and clearly visible on his pale round face, Harry found he looked a complete opposite of manly, even though he had a lean, absolutely boyish body. Tugging on the tight collar of the layered shirt and robe, he couldn't help but stare at himself in wondrous amusement. Was this what Sirius had been looking at so intently recently? His mother's face, hidden underneath his father's mop of unruly, sticking out hair?

As he moved sharply away and to the sink, pretending he was washing his hands in the lavatory and not posing in front of the mirror, Harry hadn't noticed who was standing next to him at first. However, the leisurely drawled question made him look up and stare at the reflection of a tall, fair haired man in bluish grey robe.

"And who are you, young man?"

"Mr Malfoy, s-sir," Harry wished the earth could swallow him up, "I was waiting for an interview with you, regarding the p-position of your personal assistant." He looked him straight in the pale grey eyes, inwardly trying to calm himself down. "My name is Harold James Potter, sir," he bowed respectfully, lowering his eyes at the man's shiny blue shoes that costed a fortune.

"Potter?" Lucius Malfoy stretched his lips in a small, cunning smile, thoughtfully tapping on his thin lips with a long, manicured index finger. "A half-blood. What a shame your ancient, flawless bloodline was spoiled so horribly," he sighed theatrically, watching carefully the young wizard's reaction, but got only an affirmative nod in response.

"Yes, sir."

An interview at the Ministry's toilet - Harry wondered if this was Monday yet again.

"And why, pray tell me, would a son of a branded muggleborn witch seek a job at my office?"

Lucius felt intrigued for the first time in two weeks of the constant search for an assistant. So far most of them were complete idiots, purebloods they were or not, he had no use for a brainless monkeys. Potter, however, seemed to be cognizant and looked well dressed. When the boy straightened and looked up once again, Lucius couldn't help but stare at his lovely, innocent face. Beauty and brain - such a rare combination for a modern youth.

"I know my parentage would never let me get a high ranking position in the society, sir," Harry hid his hands behind his back to twist his fingers nervously, "But I would like to have a good, noble job. To work for such an intelligent and talented man as you are would be a great reward and pride in itself." He couldn't fathom where had all these words come to him from, probably from the many muggle novels he had read at home.

He is hiding a glib tongue in that sweet mouth of his, Lucius thought, watching the green eyed boy curiously. What a ridiculous luck it was to meet a good candidate in the lavatory.

"Mr Potter, please, follow me. Let's continue our interview at my office," he brushed past the young wizard, tilting his head a little to inhale his scent - fresh and gentle, like a dewed grass in the early morning. Harold James Potter was hastily gaining points.

The room they entered looked more like a tea parlour than the working space of the Senior Undersecretary, decorated in soft blue and grey hues, it was filled with carved furniture of white wood, thick woolen carpets and small landscape paintings in bronze frames. And this was where the orders to execute and murder were being given. Raising his eyebrows in wonder and slight disdain Harry modestly lowered himself on the edge of the offered chair and folded his hands in his lap, keeping his eyes trained at his freshly polished fingernails.

Lucius watched him with great interest and pleasure, enjoying looking at the attractive face. Here, in the natural daylight out of the magical window, he could take a closer, more thorough look at his candidate. Big, mesmerizing green eyes, hidden under the thick but elegant black eyebrows; small, accurate nose, almost straight with a lovely mole on its bridge; delicately sculpted red lips, quivering ever so slightly, giving out a man of a good sense of humor, pleasant, outgoing nature; curly, unruly black hair, barely reaching down the smoothly curved, feminine jaw line. Harry Potter was a tempting, alluring boy. Having an assistant like him would be most satisfying, he would perfectly contrast with Lucius. The young wizard's voice was also pleasant, soft and quiet - a guarantee that he wouldn't suffer from a migraine anymore.

"Mr Potter, my son, Draco, was in the same year with you," Lucius drawled, looking through Harry's file with his diploma and reference. The boy was unexpectedly talented in Defense and Curses, Spell crafting. If Snape wrote this in his reference, it meant that the boy was more than simply an A-student. "He always told me about every other student who had showed himself well in one subject or another. I have heard of you only once, in regards of quidditch, which doesn't interest me in the least. How come I have never heard of your most laudable achievements in such complex subjects as Defense, Curses and Spell craft?"

"I always preferred to stay out of everybody's sight, sir. Due to my parentage and due to my natural disinterest in popularity," Harry gave the man a shy smile and ducked his head, trying to not give himself out.

Marveling the boy's shyness and wonderful smile Lucius hummed and closed the file, having have already made a decision. "Mr Potter, tell me, what do you think of Resistance?"

"The Resistance?" Harry looked up, blushing a little and frantically trying to slow down his pulse. "All I have heard of them are only rumors, which I can't find a reliable source of information. Quite honestly, sir, I know nothing about them, except for the fact, that they are fighting the Dark Lord." This wasn't that much of a lie, he thought absentmindedly.

"Don't be ashamed of that, Mr Potter," Lucius smiled, pleased beyond his imagination, "I am glad you are being honest with me. All is well, you will learn the truth in time, while working for me. Yes, yes," he laughed quietly into his curled palm at the sight of Harry's genuine surprise, written all over his wonderfully flushed face, "I am taking you as my personal assistant. You are to come here tomorrow with your belongings. Only do not take much - you will be given everything necessary at my manor, where you would live."

"Your manor, sir?" Harry had no idea he wasn't going to come back home in the evening like every other Ministry employee.

"Yes, I work twenty four hours, seven days a weeks, Mr Potter, I will be needing your constant presence and assistance. Of course you will have a few free hours on the weekends to spend some time with your family and friends... However, if such a arrangement doesn't suit you, I still have a line outside this door..."

"No, no, sir, everything suits me just fine!" Harry hurried to assure him, "I was simply surprised you would let me live at your house, sir."

"Ah, such modesty, Mr Potter, you make me look like a sinful tyrant next to your angelic persona," Lucius smiled sincerely, despite his best efforts to look cold and unaffected. Harry was just too sweet. "There is no point for you to constantly move between places, it would be much more comfortable and efficient if we were to stay together at all times, don't you think?"

"Of course, Mr Malfoy," he nodded indulgently, inwardly cursing Sirius into oblivion. Like a hurricane the man brought only bad news and destruction with him.

"We are settled then," Lucius relaxed into his chair, pleased the torture was finally over. He only hoped Harry Potter would hold longer in his position then his predecessor, who was executed eventually. For treason. "Tomorrow, here at 8 in the morning, sharp."

"Yes, sir," Harry stood up and bowed.

"Oh, and Potter," Lucius called when Harry was already at the door, "Shoo those idiots away and cancel the interview advertisements on your way."

"Of course, Mr Malfoy. Good day, sir."

After he left, Lucius spent a long time sitting behind his desk and thinking about the lovely, young wizard he had hired. He paged through James Potter's file, finding nothing interesting there. He still remembered him from their school years, although Potter was a few years younger, his pranks hadn't missed the older Slytherin students. However, apart from pranking, he hadn't excelled in anything else, the only noteworthy detail about that man was that he made Sirius Black a godfather to his son. Black, his wife Narcissa's cousin, a dark wizard. Of course, everybody knew of Sirius' alliances during the war, but the fact remained - Harry Potter could have been swayed to the side of the Dark and made into a trustworthy follower. What a promising young man. What an unexpected twist of Fate! Smiling smugly, Lucius sipped on his glass of white wine - he had a amiable reason to celebrate.

xxx

"Well, how did it go?" Ron all but jumped on Harry, when he entered the small room at the second floor of Rover's bar. "Did he interview you?"

"Yeah, I got the job," Harry sighed, feeling his knees finally giving away.

Sirius helpfully pushed a chair under him, smiling and cheering along with the others. "Great news, pup! I told you he would like you!"

"You haven't told me I will have to live at his manor and work 24/7 for him," Harry grumbled, scowling at his godfather.

"Well, his previous assistant didn’t, so... I couldn't have foreseen that," Sirius shrugged his shoulders unapologetically. "But look on the bright side: you will be able to listen in to any private meeting he would be holding at home!"

"It's alright, Harry," his father patted him on the shoulder and caressed his hair, smiling sadly. "You are too old to live with your parents anyway, it would be a good experience, besides, Sirius is right. you will have an even better access to his activities than we thought."

"But how will I pass on the information if I would be constantly under his radar?" Harry tiredly rubbed on his face and eyes, wishing nothing else but to fall asleep and find out it all to be some kind of a sick nightmare.

"We all work with the Death Eaters," Ron explained, "We constantly visit the Ministry, plus, both James and Sirius are often there as well. There would always be one of us to take a note from you. You are under a radar, but you have the right to greet old friends or share lunch with your other colleagues."

"Yeah, right," he frowned at his friend's patronizing tone, as if Ron was talking to an infant. He wasn't a spy, James Bond was a muggle fictional character, there was no real professional he could ask for a few lessons in deceit and disguise. "So, what should I be looking for in his documents and such?" he turned to his godfather, trying hard to abstract himself from the gruesome images of Death Eaters’ tortured victims in his memory.

"First get used to your duties and sort everything by categories. We will decide then what is more significant to us," Sirius winked, looking very pleased with himself.

"Fine."

Standing under the rain in the garden an hour later, Harry listened to the screams coming out of the house. James was telling Lily of his new job. A coward that he was Harry felt he couldn't make himself face his mother right now. He knew what she would say and she would be right of course. But it was her, for whom he wanted to fight this war, as Sirius called it. For her happiness. He was ready to work for Malfoy as long as it took him to find a way to free her from the humiliating life she was forced to lead. Wasn't it a reason enough to risk his own well being? Harry knew he hadn't yet fully realized his situation, he knew it would all look differently in the morning, scary, unbearable, but he couldn't back out after he had already succeeded in his first step.

“How could you?! How could you?!” Unexpectedly strong hands of his mother grabbed him from behind and turned him sharply around, so that he could look into her pale, worried, worn face, full of anger. “Have you gone out of your mind?! To work for that slimy bastard Malfoy!” She kept screaming, trying to overcome the sound of the heavy rain, while simultaneously shaking him, as if she hoped to wake him up.

“I’m doing this for you! Can’t you see that?”

Why was it fair, why did their first real conversation in years just had to be an argument? Over his decision to help her?

“For me, for me?! What kind of a sick, twisted sacrifice is that?” she cried in dismay, “I never asked for it!”

“I know… but… Can’t you just support me in this?” he whined lamely, feeling the treacherous tears draw their way down his cheeks, past the raindrops. “I am scared, but I am also determined. I have never felt so right before, mom. I know I am doing the right thing, however hard it might be. Please…”

He stared her in the puffy eyes of the same emerald green colour, trying to convey all the wide specter of emotions he was experiencing this very moment, wishing her to understand what was he going through. He felt he couldn't breathe, he felt her cold hands around his bare wrists and it made him want to cry even worse, for she hardly touched him in the last few years, for her hands had used to be warm and soft before…

“I know, Harry,” Lily said quietly, squeezing his trembling fingers in hers. “I know and I am scared to death myself. What have you gotten yourself into… Harry,” she begged in a small voice, “Promise me. Promise you will do everything in your power to survive.”

“Yes, I promise,” he agreed solemnly, rubbing the water and the tears out of his eyes.

“Promise you will come home every time you can. Promise me, Harry,” she insisted, shaking him some more by the shoulders now.

“Alright, mom, promise…”


	2. The gathering of the clouds.

" _Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear, not absence of fear." Mark Twain_

Harry lay in his bed, with his eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling and trying to realize that he was sleeping here for the last time in a long, foreseeable future. He had always had this bed, ever since he turned three. Nothing in his room had really changed during the eighteen years and knowing now that he was going to leave this place made Harry suddenly acknowledge how truly childish it seemed. Lily has really been trying to keep him a baby as long as it was possible. With a bittersweet sadness he looked around, taking in the furniture, toys and books he knew better than himself, knew every crack, every spot, every inch of them. His last morning of his childhood. The moment he left this house he would become an adult and there would be no place for tears, fear and regret. He glanced at the small digital clock on his desk, still unused to not squinting or blindly feeling for his glasses to see properly. It was six in the morning. He had to get up, pack and leave to come at the office a little earlier - he knew it would be a good form to be punctual.

Looking at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, he tried to understand if he had gone insane or if the world around him had. How could he have agreed to this? How could he have thrown himself away so easily, what for? For his parents. Harry sighed resentfully and threw his towel at the mirror. Now more then ever he wanted to tell Hermione about all of his worries and doubts. She had run away with her family, leaving her home and friends behind, leaving everything for her parent's safety. They would have been definitely killed and she would have been branded and sent to serve as a slave or worse, married to some low life wizard to produce another half-blood. What kind of life was that? How could his mother stand it? But she didn't, he saw it in her hollow, impassive gaze, she existed like a plant, ready to wither away any moment. Could he leave her to suffer? Could he close his eyes and honestly, consciously say she was better off this way? Of course not. If serving Malfoy was what it took to help her - Harry was ready to do it.

He went down with his bag in his hand, wearing his new formal robe and shiny dandy shoes he really didn't like. Patting his chest pocket, Harry checked his cigarette pack - it was full. He doubted he would be able to smoke at work, doubted Malfoy would appreciate his horrible muggle habits, but he was incapable of giving it up. In his new situation smoking was his only escape and way of relaxing.

"Would you like to eat before leaving?" Lily asked quietly, appearing at the kitchen's threshold. "It's only 7:15, you have plenty of time."

"I can't, I'm too nervous." When was the las time he had admitted something like that to his mother, shared his fears with her? "A cup of coffee will do, I think."

He brushed past her and took his cup from the dryer. It was his favourite muggle cup with a funny picture of Merlin on it, who looked like Albus Dumbledore wearing a pointed hat covered in stars. He couldn't take it with him, it didn't belong in the outside world, in his new life of a spy. Harry chuckled bitterly at the thought. A few days ago he wouldn't have believed he was capable of something so... fictional.

"You can still call it off, you know," his mother offered tentatively, sitting down at the table and watching him intently, as if trying to remember every tiny detail of his face.

"I can't, you know that very well." Harry gulped down the hot black liquid and ate a few mint candies his father brought from the supermarket.

"Take those with you," she gestured at the box of mints on the shelf, "Nobody likes the smell of cigarettes on an employee at the Ministry."

"You... you know?" he stared at her, perplexed. He thought she didn't care.

"Of course I know, Harry," Lily sighed heavily and pushed her fork to lie properly beside the plate, although it had been already laid out in careful symmetry. "Good luck. I hope you wouldn't regret your decision," she added, when Harry moved to leave.

"Thanks, mom."

He wanted to embrace her, to kiss her, to feel her gentle hands on his face, just like they used to caress each other when he was little. But there was a huge rim between them he had no idea how to fix. Harry looked at her one last time, longingly and sorrowfully, and disappeared, leaving her to stare at the two empty plates on the table.

xxx

"Ah, Mr Potter, ten minutes earlier, I see," Lucius smiled at the sight of the young wizard obediently waiting by his office with a small bag in his hands. "Punctuality is a rare quality I highly value in people. Come in," he waved his hand and the door opened before him.

He threw his long blond hair behind his shoulders and took off his warm cloak, dropping it carelessly over the armchair. Sitting down at his desk, Lucius took a thick file out of one of the many drawers and handed it over to Harry, who was once again modestly seated opposite him.

"Here is the full list of your duties as my personal assistant, at least these are all you predecessor used to fulfill."

"If I may ask: what has happened to him, sir?" Harry looked up at his irreproachably looking boss. Malfoy looked particularly languorous today, dressed in pink and grey robe, comfortably slumped in his puffy leather chair.

"You may. He was executed for treason," Lucius replied nonchalantly, sipping on his morning tea and checking the fresh issue of the Daily Prophet that Harry had brought him - he usually got his newspaper much later, down at the Ministry's hall.

"For treason?" Harry breathed out, staring unseeingly at the words on the parchments in the file.

"He turned out to be a member of the Resistance under polyjuice. Can you imagine that?" Lucius laughed soundlessly and pushed a teacup, that suddenly appeared out of nowhere, towards Harry. "By the way, Mr Potter, do indulge me in drinking the polyjuice antidote."

"Of course," Harry hastily drank the bitter tea, relieved that there was nothing to suspect him for. Yet.

"Wonderful. I knew you were very much real and your own self, but it never hurts to be cautious," Lucius smiled charmingly and banished the empty china with a flick of his fingers. Harry's careful watching didn't escape his attention, but he decided to let it rest for a time being. If the Potter boy proved trustworthy and reliable, they would discuss the matter of his further education. For now, though, he needed Harry to understand what his duties were. "So, what do you think of the list?" he arched his eyebrow, looking at the file pointedly.

Wondering what exactly had given his predecessor away, Harry quickly scanned the text, raising his eyebrows at times at particular points, but all in all his job wasn't going to be harder than he had expected it to be.

"It is not easy, nor it is hard, Mr Malfoy. I think I will manage fine."

"Any questions?" The young wizard proved to be a very good choice.

"No, sir," Harry said simply. Many of the points written on the list were outright mocking him, baiting to speak up. He knew better than react to provoking - Draco had taught him well during their many quidditch matches about patience and ignorance to teasing. "Everything is quite clear."

Lucius raised his eyebrows in a mild surprise. Either Potter didn't have any kind of dignity, accepting all of the tasks, or he was much smarter and more perceptive than he had imagined him to be. Intriguing.

"Wonderful, Mr Potter. Simply wonderful. Now, tell me of any of your bad habits, if you even have those. I must know everything about the man I am trusting with my work and invitng into my house," he murmured and tilted his head to the side, watching the lovely face redden in embarrassment. Salazar, he had never met anybody so innocent and shy before! And the boy was a gryffindor, oh, the irony!

"I smoke," Harry bit out shakily, thinking that this was the end of his career that hadn't even started yet.

"Is that all?" Lucius asked lowly, barely restraining himself from laughing out loud at Harry's unbelievable insecurity.

"Yes, sir. Nothing else."

Breathing deeply, he didn't dare to look up. However, a loud, indignant snort made his head shot up and he widened his eyes at the sight of a genuinely laughing Lucius Malfoy, who was failing at covering his mouth with his groomed, weak hand.

"Mr Potter, I thought you couldn't be more blameless!" Lucius coughed into his fist, trying to cover up his mirth. "Smoking is not prohibited, just do it outside the manor, whenever you wish to."

Catching his breath, Harry smiled nervously, "Thank you, sir." He was going to lose his sanity by the end of the day, if he kept worrying about every man's questions. However, if he wasn't cautious, he could very well lose his life instead.

"Now that we have covered this, it is time for you to officially begin your work. There is a stack of mail in that bureau in the corner - sort it, throw away useless rubbish like invitations to parties and petitions, appeals for pardon, etc. Bring me first the letters that demand my written answer. And I will watch you work and note the time you would spend on the task," Lucius leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his stomach. "The faster you work, the more you would manage to finish in one day, the more free hours I will give you on the weekend. The scheme is quite simple, isn't it?"

"Of course, sir," Harry nodded, rose from his seat and went over to the bureau, telling himself to ignore the man's intent staring. Malfoy was all but boring a hole in his head, but he knew he had to be patient and concentrated on his task.

The word stack was an understatement - it was a mountain of letters, that poured from behind the unlocked lid and spread all over the carpet underneath Harry's feet. Thinking that Malfoy wouldn't have anything against the usage of magic, he took out his holly wand and waved his hand in a simple pattern, murmuring the incantation of his own creation. The countless envelopes slowly rose up in the air and moved to float in a straight line before him, turning so that he could read the names on their faces. Waving his hands to the left and to the right, Harry quickly sorted out invitations and sent them into the hearth. He then sat down at the desk and casted another spell of his, that traced the letters sent by the same person. All those were petitions, constantly sent from parents and children of those, who were being prosecuted and were ordered to be executed soon. He knew the names from the papers, so a thick stack of these also flew into the hearth.

Harry opened everything that was left, quickly reading the contents and marking the ones that needed a written answer. "

Sign those that only need my signature yourself," he heard Malfoy drawl amusedly. The man was watching him with his eyebrows raised high in wonder at the pace of his work. "You can find an example of it here," he sent a piece of parchment float over to the bureau and Harry caught it, nodding in affirmation.

Having had made up a small stack of the important correspondence, Harry sent it to his boss, instantly beginning to sign what was left. Malfoy's signature was rather intricate, it's cursive had its own unique flourish, that was hard to copy, but not for him. In his fourth year at Hogwarts Harry had crafted a spell that let him imitate other's handwriting, although his initial aim was to create the one that would have turned Hermione's writings into his, when he couldn't make an adequate essay for potions. Nevertheless, the spell proved to be useful in falsification of the passes for being late and out of curfew.

"Show me your signature," Lucius demanded, surprised at how confidently and quickly Harry was signing the letters and orders. When the young wizard came to stand by him with a perfect copy of his autograph in his hands, he couldn't help but widen his eyes in astonishment. "How have you managed it so fast, Mr Potter?"

"A spell I have created, sir." Lying wasn't an option, he had to be most truthful to gain the man's trust.

"Cheated in school?" he smiled cunningly, giving the green eyed boy a knowing look.

"Only in potions, sir," Harry smiled, remembering Snape's displeased, sour face at the endless praise Slughorn was giving him for his high marks. If only the old bat knew.

"We won't tell Headmaster Snape about this," Lucius winked at him conspiratorially, once again marveling the boy's lovely blush. Potter turned out to be a little trickster. He found he grew to like the boy even more. "When you are finished with signing, come and sit here next to me, I will dictate you text for the answers."

When Harry sat down on the wizard's left and prepared to write, Lucius cleared his throat and creased his brow, reading the first letter out of the stack.

"Write down: Since the whereabouts of Anthony Rickett are unknown, proceed with kidnapping his mother. The necessity of torture would be determined later... Is something wrong, Mr Potter?" he gave the boy a feral smile, seeing that he was staring at the name with a grave expression on his face.

"Rickett was Hufflepuff's beater in my year, sir, that is all," Harry stubbornly finished the text, bracing himself for more to come. Nobody had told him he was going to be giving out death certificates at his new job.

"Perhaps, you find our methods unfair?" He was genuinely curious to see the boy's reaction.

"It is not my place to judge, sir, I never knew him outside the quidditch pitch or classroom, I do not know what is he accused of."

Harry imagined that he was an emotionless muggle-created robot, that could not have any kind of compassion towards others, even if he knew them well. And he did know Rickett, they have recently played a match together at the Diagon Alley pitch in February and now he was writing an order to kidnap the boy's mother. For a moment there he sincerely questioned his own sanity. Was he going to let others die for the sake of his mother's happiness?

Lucius didn't say anything, only kept watching the green eyed wizard intently, carefully. It was obvious that Harry was upset. "Perhaps, you wish to save him?" he made a guess.

"I don't have a hero complex, sir," Harry smiled wryly and tapped the parchment with the tip of his holly wand and his crooked handwriting turned into a nice copy of Hermione's.

"Another one of your advantages, Mr Potter," Lucius sighed in satisfaction and waved his hand, indicating for Harry to prepare a clean page for another answer. "Let's get done with this as quickly as possible."

An hour later Harry found himself in the lavatory, frantically grabbing on the edge of the sink, willing his tears of horror away. All the letters he had written for Malfoy were orders to kidnap, kill, torture... Most of the names he knew very well, for they belonged to his peers from Hogwarts. They all were found guilty of treason, all were connected with the Resistance. Trembling, he squeezed his eyes shut, terrified by the prospect of writing an order for Ron's execution one day. Or Sirius', or his father's. Would Malfoy laugh at him and shower him with compliments then? Hyperventilating, Harry turned on the cold water and splashed it all over his burning face, trying hard to calm himself down. Sick, this was absolutely sick.

When he returned into the office, Lucius gave him an incredulous look and silently shook his head, pitying him and laughing at his torment it seemed. "I fear I wasn't thorough in explaining what kind of work exactly you were supposed to do for me, Mr Potter. Perhaps, you are not strong enough?"

"I confess I never expected to... write orders for execution, but I am fine now, sir. I am fine," Harry said firmly, looking at his boss in determination. There were potions and spells from weak stomach and nerves, everything else he could overcome - it wasn't a reason to back out now.

"I am very pleased to hear that," Lucius smiled broadly, tapping his long, manicured fingers on the heavy snake head of his cane. "Now, you may go and enjoy your first lunch at the Ministry, while I pay a visit to a friend of mine. Be back at the office by two o'clock, we will go to Malfoy Manor and you will meet my family, staff and set up your accommodation."

"Yes, sir, thank you, sir," Harry bowed respectfully and watched as Malfoy stepped into the green flames of his fireplace and disappeared in a whoosh of sparkles and ashes.

Sighing and gulping down bile, that was still clogging his throat Harry slowly walked up one level and stopped in the middle of the Main Hall, not knowing where the cafeteria was situated. Looking around helplessly, he bitterly thought that there was no point in searching for it, since he couldn't force anything into his churning stomach anyway.

"Harry! Long time no see!" A heavy hand patted him on the shoulder hard and he stared at the bright, freckled face of Ron Weasley. "Fancy a lunch together? We have so much to catch up between us boys, eh?" The redheaded wizard took him by the arm and forcefully dragged him somewhere to the right, grinning idiotically all the while.

"Ron? What are you doing here?" Harry mumbled, when he was pushed to sit behind the furthest table in a spacious, well lit cafe, full of colourfully dressed ministry employees.

"Smile, act like we haven't seen each other, like old mates," Ron hissed at him and winked at a random woman, while simultaneously waving his hand in greeting at a group of quidditch players in the opposite corner. "I am here visiting the Games and Sports Department, was anticipating to find you. So?" He stared at Harry expectantly, tapping on the table impatiently with his knuckles.

"What?" Harry frowned in confusion.

"Tell me something, anything you have discovered," the wizard explained, rolling his eyes in exasperation, "Don't sleep, Harry!"

"Oh, right..." he still didn't like that patronizing air around Ron, as if he himself was an experienced spy, who had been plotting and overthrowing governments for his whole life, which wasn't much longer than Harry's. Why was he acting so superiorly towards him, when he wasn't the one who had to lick Malfoy's arse and constantly risk his life, standing by the side of one the closest, most trusted generals of the Dark Lord? "Rickett's mom will be kidnapped tonight," he said nonchalantly, seething on the inside, and sipped on the glass of juice a waitering elf brought him.

"What?!" Ron's pale blue eyes widened in horror.

"Yeah... Michael Corr, do you remember him? He is going to be executed tomorrow morning, will be kissed by a dementor," Harry chewed on an apple, looking around, as if they were discussing weather.

"H-how do you know all this...?" the other swallowed harshly, as his face reddened and then turned sickeningly green in colour.

"Oh, my job is to write down all the orders for executions, prosecutions, kidnapings, premeditated murders and stuff," Harry sighed mockingly, "Didn't you know?" At Ron's dumb, terrified expression he twisted his lips in a parody of a smile, "Imagine, how wonderful my job is. I am going to write death certificates for each and every one of you eventually and there would be nothing I could do but smile sweetly at Malfoy and pour him brandy after every successful demonstrative execution at the Diagon Alley. What a unique opportunity, indeed."

"Harry, mate... I swear, I didn't know... But... " Ron stammered and shut up, rubbing on his neck uncomfortably and staring at the wooden pattern on the surface of their table. "Fuck, this is so sick," he breathed out and looked up at Harry, who simply arched an imperious eyebrow at him.

"Isn't it?"

"Listen, Harry, don't give me that shit!" the redhead hissed, scowling and reddening again, in anger this time. "I know it's hard, no, I don't know and don't want to ever find out, but you must do this! With this information we can save lives, we can prevent some of our people from being kidnapped or assassinated! Don't you see how actually useful your position is?"

Looking at him as if he was seeing him for the first time in his life Harry slumped back in his chair and chuckled mirthlessly, "It's you, who doesn't see anything. Ron, I am signing the execution orders for him! I am actually participating in killing people! Do you think I will get out of this alive, when.. if you would succeed? I will die with all the knowledge I am bearing, I have signed my own death order when I came to your meeting!"

He squeezed the apple too hard in a bout of devastation and it burned down in his hand and turned to ash. He hastily hid it under the table but Ron had noticed it, though, never said anything about it.

"Harry, it was your choice to join us. Now you have to face the consequences. We all risk our lives doing this," he grumbled, "If you thought it all to be a game..."

"No, I think you all take this for a game, playing spies and secret agents, while I am actually holding people's lives in my hands and watch them die. And I am already a deadman myself. I don't know when will I be able to have a free weekend to meet you all... Tell them what I've told you, I don't have appetite and I don't want to talk to you anymore," Harry blurted out, stood up sharply and left, not looking back at Ron, who tried to call him, but it gained too much attention and he stayed in his place, watching Harry's retreating back.

xxx

"You don't look like you’ve had a decent lunch, Mr Potter," Lucius looked Harry over, arching one of his eyebrows in displeasure.

"Excuse me, sir, but I didn't find the menu that much appealing and there were too many people," Harry looked down modestly, sighing, hating the sour taste of the blasted apple on his tongue.

"Hmm, all the better, as I see it. I never eat at that hole. Good to know you have some sense to appreciate decent food and company, Mr Potter. You will be having lunch with me from now on, in the city, as I always do," Malfoy drawled, stretching his thin lips in a small smile. The boy's shyness and reluctance for socializing played out well for him - he could easily sway him to the Dark side. Lucius had mastered the many ways of persuading and brainwashing and Harry promised to be the most pleasant and joyful victim in one of his games. "I suggest we depart now and spend the rest of the day at the Manor, for tomorrow we have to start earlier than usual, since it is the beginning of the playing season. As much as I don't care for quidditch I still have to attend all the locations and perform a thorough inspection," he sighed dramatically and gestured for Harry to follow him into the fireplace.

"Yes, sir," Harry obediently agreed, feeling strangely distant and resigned. What he told Ron was true - he couldn't escape this place, not after he had seen and signed everything in those orders and letters. It wasn't just a test, it was a warning from Malfoy, that people didn't quit this position by their own will.

However, when he stepped out of the hearth and onto a soft and thick rug, very much like quicksands, Harry couldn't help but stare around in amazement, barely keeping his jaw from dropping down onto the floor. He found himself in a real pureblood manor: dark, edwardian interiors with heavy, roughly cut but nevertheless elegant furniture of wood and leather, thick, dusty, black curtains, hiding the sunlight away, huge chandeliers of hundreds of candles and large, narrow mirrors hanging down from the walls amidst old magical paintings. Turning his head as fast as he could, he followed his boss through the endless rooms, parlours and corridors and into the hall with a grand staircase occupying most of its space.

"Well, how do you find our good old family crypt?" Lucius smirked, giving Harry a knowing, pitying look. Potters had lost most of their fortune and all of their property at the beginning of the war, when Charlus Potter gave almost everything he had to Dumbledore, leaving his son practically bankrupt by the time he had graduated from Hogwarts. Harry, though entitled to live in luxury, had never seen any of his family's gold, jewels, treasures, all the legacy he should have inherited was lost for him forever.

"Your manor is very beautiful, sir. Dark, but I don't find it oppressing, on the contrary, very welcoming, comfortable, if I may say so," Harry breathed out sincerely, smiling shyly and bowing to a few portraits who woke up and were watching him curiously.

"Wonderful. Then it wouldn't be a problem to make this place a second home to you," Lucius hummed, satisfied, and ascended the stairs, leading Harry to the second floor and into his bedroom.

It was bigger than his own at Godric's Hollow, decorated in dark wood and green wallpaper of silk. A huge bed, an old chest of drawers, a wardrobe, a writing desk and an armchair beside a small marble hearth - that was more than enough for Harry, it all looked so rich, aristocratic, foreign to him.

"I know this environment is very unusual for you, but you will have to get used to it, for I do not accept anything but the best, the most expensive, of the highest quality. You may have noticed that, since I chose you out of all the candidates to become my assistant. You have to look up to me and live and behave accordingly to my status, Mr Potter."

Lucius was watching the young wizard intently, smiling inwardly at his emotions written so openly on his face - Harry wasn't haughty, wasn't arrogant, wasn't full of himself, thick, he was insecure, true, but also noble and modest, unpretentious. It was a true wonder how such a gem managed to develop and survive in their world, in such a pathetic family as Potters.

"I understand, sir, I will do my best," Harry bowed his head and offered Malfoy a small smile.

"I have no doubts," Lucius smirked and moved to leave the room, but stopped at the threshold. "Ah, the elf's name that would be serving you is Dobby. You may call him whenever you need anything. Join me at dinner in two hours." The door behind him closed and Harry was left alone in his new bedroom. His new life.

He looked around, thinking that so far it all had been too easy for him. He drank a polyjuice antidote - certainly, Malfoy wasn't so easy to fool, not after a member of the Resistance had managed to accomplish such a fit. There had to be a trick somewhere. Perhaps, he was paranoid, but he wished to live as long as he could and for that he had to be very cautious.

And there it was, a painting on the wall, a simple one really - a landscape that displayed the exact weather outside, however, Harry knew that people, depicted in many different portraits he had seen on his way here, could easily travel between the pictures and were no doubt going to spy on him. He couldn't spell the frame to throw them out, or freeze the painting itself, for this would surely rise suspicions. Sighing, he concluded he couldn't keep any kind of correspondence in this room, couldn't do anything except sleeping and changing clothes, basically.

Harry opened the door and inspected his personal bathroom - a novice for him, since he had been sharing one with his parents at home ever since he remembered himself and with his friends and peers during his stay at Hogwarts. For the first time in his life he was going to have his own bathtub and have an opportunity to spend as much time in it as he wished. Well, his life at death's door did have some advantages, he thought sarcastically and put his toothbrush on the sink. He hanged his few robes and suits into the wardrobe, placed his underwear and pajamas into the drawers and moved to the window, pushed the heavy curtains aside and squinted at the bright sunlight. It was really dark inside.

Harry cracked the window open and took a long, deep breath, inhaling the fresh air. Just like in the painting on the wall, endless hills of green lay before him, covered in wild flowers and grass, with rare trees spread all over the territory - the land that belonged to Malfoys was unimaginably vast, it was probably situated in an unplotted area somewhere in the south of the country. Harry took out a cigarette and lit it, inhaling the bitter smoke with pleasure. He wondered if he would have ever taken this job by his own wish, without any Resistance pushing him. Perhaps, he would have been to self-conscious to even dare to think that he could have this. Who would have thought Malfoy would like him so much?

"Dinner served, master Potter, you is waited in dining room," a quiet voice announced and Harry turned to see a pair of huge, scared eyes staring at him out of the shadowed corner.

Banishing his cigarette, he stepped closer and bent a little to take a closer look at the small elf. "You are Dobby, right?" At the creature's hesitant, nervous nod, Harry smiled and held out his hand, "Hello, I'm Harry, Harry Potter."

Dobby shrank from him, as if in fear of being hit and Harry frowned, slowly lowering his hand. Seeing that the wizard wasn't going to harm him, the elf looked up at him, trembling, "Excuse us, master Potter, my masters never touch dirty, ugly things like Dobby."

"They beat you, don't they?" It wasn't hard to guess, really. Purebloods and wizards in general never saw elves as decent, worthy beings, using them as mere slaves. "I know you can't say anything bad about your masters, do not worry, I'm not going to ever hurt you or shout at you," he sighed and offered Dobby a small smile.

"Master Potter is so kind!" the elf squeaked and stared at Harry in adoration.

"Could you show me the way, Dobby? I think I will get lost in here on my own," Harry shrugged his shoulders helplessly and smiled some more, when the creature happily ran forward, leading him and naming every room they were passing on their way.

"Now, now, my dear, let me introduce my new assistant, Harold Potter," Lucius high, gentle voice greeted him in the Great Hall of the manor, where a long, massive table and a set of chairs stood, leaving plenty of free space for the whole gryffindor house to hold a ball.

Harry tentatively stepped closer at his boss' sign and bowed lowly to the lady of the house, Narcissa Malfoy. If he used to think that Draco was a copy of his father, he was gravely mistaken, for all of his small, pointed and rather feminine features the insufferable blonde had inherited from his mother. Small, slender woman with a pale, bored face greeted him, showing nothing in the cold, watery blue eyes that roamed over his form and inspected his face with outmost attention.

"What a lovely young man you are, Mr Potter," after a tiny second of consideration she offered her hand for him to take and kiss, as if she doubted he was worthy of even looking at her.

"Pleased to meet you, lady Malfoy," Harry said quietly, placing a modest, featherlight kiss on a cold, veined hand. Narcissa looked ill, weak, withering away like a late flower that stayed too long into the autumn.

"Father!" a high-pitched shriek made them all turn their heads. "What on earth Potter is doing in our dining room?!" Draco stormed inside, glaring at Harry hatefully, habitually holding his wand in his hand, ready to fight him, like they used to in the darkness of the school's corridors long after curfew.

"Draco," Lucius growled warningly and Harry had to restrain himself from raising his eyebrows in surprise, for he could never imagine such a soft, delicate person as Lucius could have such a deep, rumbling voice. It suddenly made him look truly dangerous, the cunning serpent and a ruthless murderer that he was. "Mr Potter is my new personal assistant and you would behave yourself, since he is going to live here and work for me. If you disturb him, I would send you away again, and this time for a much, much longer period." With that the wizard took his wife by the arm and led her to her chair, gesturing for Harry to sit on his right, while the family members sat on his left.

Enraged Draco shut up and dropped himself on his chair, turning up his nose and pointedly ignoring Harry's presence, which Harry couldn't find that bad at all.

"Mr Potter, my husband has told me a lot about you, to be honest, I imagined you were... older, more experienced," Narcissa addressed him in a plain, bored tone that he thought was quite typical for the aristocrats. Somehow, they found such fashion of speech appropriate and beautiful for their society. For Harry it sounded downright snob and impolite, but his opinion wasn't going to be appreciated, of course, and he kept it to himself.

"I am rather inexperienced, madame, but I strive to improve and be of a better use to Mr Malfoy in the future," he ducked his head shyly and lowered his long eyelashes, blushing slightly. He never did this on purpose, it was his natural reaction to any kind of conversation with people he didn't know well, however, he thought it was going to help him get in Malfoys' good graces.

"He may be young and green, but he is the only worthy candidate of all I have interviewed during the whole week, darling. Mr Potter is a very promising young man and a very modest one, which, I am sure, you would find quite lovely and refreshing," Lucius smiled at her and gave Harry a mirthful, laughing look, sipping on his wine.

"Right," Draco scoffed, clattering his fork against the plate, "Potter and modesty are two completely polar concepts that have nothing in common! You should have seen him cursing me at the school!" he cried indignantly and reddened, glaring at Harry, who gave him a calm, impassive look like he always did before frying the brat up with a particularly nasty spell.

"I regret he hasn't done it enough that you learnt some modesty and self-control," Lucius clicked his tongue and twisted his lips, looking at his son tiredly. He was fed up with the boy's constant complaints and caprices, but there was nothing he could do about it now after Narcissa had spoiled their son so horribly. "Do not mind Draco, Mr Potter, however, I would suggest to refrain from dueling and fighting, or you both would regret it very much," he gave them both a pointed, warning look and concentrated on his meal.

"Of course, sir," Harry nodded and carefully picked on his food, forcing a little bit of everything into his stomach, knowing all too well that it wouldn't be polite to reject such an expensive treat. Draco grimaced, mimicking him in a mocking, quite unpleasant fashion and blew him a raspberry, hiding it behind his hand. But Harry didn't take the bait - in that he had a most abundant experience.

"So what does a young man of your... descent prefers to do in his spare time?" Narcissa asked him lazily, barely looking at him. It seemed her eyes were too tired to focus on him properly and were constantly gliding down, past him, to stop somewhere on the table-cloth.

"Since I cannot afford much, I enjoy reading and spell crafting, I constantly try to improve myself in wielding my magic," he said quietly, hating the hidden mockery in her words, since she knew very well that all that was left to him of his family's wealth and fame was just his name.

"Mr Potter, as it turns out, is the best student of their year in Defense, Curses and Spell Craft, Draco," Lucius drawled, however, the acid in his tone was quite evident, "When you have told us it was you who got the highest marks in these subjects. I have seen Mr Potter's reference written by Severus Snape himself, which, as you know very well, is a rarity nowadays. There had only been two of these, written by him personally - yours and Mr Potter's."

Since Draco couldn't say anything to that, keeping his head bowed as lowly above his plate as it was possible, Narcissa leaned a little bit closer and finally made her eyes focus on Harry's, "You must be a very skilled, talented wizard, if Headmaster Snape had personally praised you so highly even despite his well known hatred towards your parents." Oh how well she knew where to push to make him seethe inside, but Harry held his emotions under control and only lowered his gaze in embarrassment.

"I am grateful to Headmaster Snape and I wish I could repay him somehow for such generosity, since I always used to think of myself as of a very ordinary wizard." The thought that Malfoy wasn’t supposed to see that damned reference only briefly brushed on Harry’s mind and then disappeared in favour of him being angry at Narcissa and trying to hide it.

"You are working for me now, Mr Potter, and I collect only the most extraordinary things, so you should feel proud and better of yourself," Lucius smiled cunningly behind his glass and Harry offered him a small smile in return, inwardly cringing at the notion that he was a thing, a collectable object, like a postal mark. He actually liked Malfoy so far, despite the man's obvious cruelty, heartlessness and vanity, superciliousness, but he wished he was treated like a human being, not a slave under an illusion of an employee.

The rest of the dinner went smoothly, for only Lucius was speaking, telling his family of different people Harry never knew but figured he had to and he kept listening intently and memorizing every name and detail that was given. It was his duty to sort the correspondence and know exactly whose letters were first priority, whose could wait and whose could have been answered buy himself as insignificant ones. After tea Narcissa glided out of the room, taking the still fuming Draco with her. Left together at the table Harry and Lucius both involuntarily relaxed. Noticing it the blonde wizard laughed quietly into his fist and ordered two drinks for them.

"I hope you drink, Mr Potter?" A glass of brandy appeared before Harry and he held his breath for a moment, remembering his most unpleasant experiences with alcohol in the gryffindor common room.

"Yes, sir. Though I can't say I am an expert or that I have tasted a plentiful variety of drinks."

"You will learn in time, do not worry about that," Lucius smiled, feeling very pleased and a little excited with a prospect of teaching Harry everything he was supposed to know since his birth.

Teaching Draco wasn't as joyful and rewarding, he had to admit, for his son had never appreciated the knowledge he was sharing with him, taking everything for granted. While this green eyed boy seemed to be not only bright and noble, but naturally curious and highly talented, born to be an aristocrat of a highest sort. How truly satisfying it would be to take Harry under his wing and raise him a most prominent, worthy wizard of their new world.

"Thank you, sir, I do not deserve all your time and hard work of teaching me."

And here was his proof that it would be indeed the most pleasant hobby of his - to make Harry Potter what he had always wanted his son to be. Watching the fresh, childish blush on the round, lovely cheeks, Lucius couldn't help but admire the boy's handsomeness, sexuality, his bright, intelligent green eyes hidden behind the wild, unruly black curls. His hand squeezed the arm of the chair, as he suppressed his unexpected desire to card his fingers through this hair, to tug on it, to inhale its scent and marvel its soft texture.

"I hope everything is to your liking here?"

Lucius wished he could find his suddenly awoken desire a bad sign, an argument to leave and stay distant form the young wizard, but he simply couldn't. It had been so long since somebody had intrigued and exhilarated him so much, turned him on. He wished to take Harry's innocence, but knew it was going to be his worst mistake and he had to reluctantly tame the beast, that was clawing on his chest. Desire was one of the most destructive powers he had no wish of bringing upon himself.

"Yes, sir, thank you. This place is truly wonderful, I like it very much," Harry tried to ignore the strange gleam he caught in the pale grey eyes, told himself it was a flicker of the fire from the candles, however, something was telling him his wishful thinking was pointless. Swallowing as lightly as he could, he took another sip of brandy, already knowing that Malfoy started to suspect him. What else could that strange, burning look mean?

xxx

Sitting on the windowsill, smoking into the open window and looking at the stars that were so bright here, Harry thought of his parents with whom he had parted so suddenly. Did they miss him? Did they even notice he wasn't there? Or maybe James had once again fallen asleep in front of the telly and had completely forgotten that Harry wouldn't come down to turn it off and wake him up to shoo him to bed? Was Lily thinking of him now or had she been cooking and cleaning the whole day and had no time or wish to even remember that she had to put only two plates on the table now, instead of the usual three?

"I wish it all had turned out differently for us," he sighed, blowing out the thick, bluish smoke that froze in the air and slowly melted away, very much like Harry's chance to ever get out of this alive.

He laughed inwardly at how surprisingly calmly he accepted his own destiny, which had been once again forced on him. Was there even any point in hoping that one day he would find an opportunity for his mother to safely escape this world, this country, this horrible regime? How hypocritical it was of him to blame the system that hadn't done anything wrong to him personally, though. For it was his mother, who had been branded and deprived of her free will, it was his father who had married her instead of trying to get back the family's wealth and dignity.

While Harry had had his education at Hogwarts, which was as prestigious as ever, since not everybody could get a chance of being accepted into the famous school, Harry, as a half-blood, could have any kind of job he liked, even at the Ministry, even amongst the Death Eaters, although his name was the only obstacle, since it was in Snape's black books. He could even marry a pureblood witch, if he had enough money to bring into her family. With all honesty, Harry couldn't find the Dark Lord's laws wrong or damaging in regards of himself, for he didn't really care for muggles and had no wish to assimilate with them and welcome them with open arms.

However, it was his mother he should have been thinking about, not his own petty person. How could he be so selfish and heartless, when the poor woman suffered so much for the sake of having him, her only child, with a man she loved? Harry put the cigarette out by pressing it against his bare arm, hissing and scowling in pain, that didn't bring the necessary soberness and order into his mind. He hated himself for having these rebellious, egoistic thoughts, for daring to put his own being above his family, that had done so much for him... Lily taught him everything about magic long before he went to Hogwarts, she showed him the wondrous world of muggle literature and muggle technology, even though it was looked upon in their society and muggleborns were openly despised for using it.

His mother had shared all of her vast knowledge with him, but after he entered the school everything changed, she turned him away, grew distant and they lost that special magic that used to bind them together, to make them so close, so dear. Bitter and broken - this was how Harry felt now, being the independent adult. He had lost his only true friend to something, he had wrongly taken for the political regime at first, but now he thought it was something else entirely. It was as if Lily rejected him for growing up, for becoming a man with his own common sense, his own principles and mentality, she rejected him for becoming who he was now. And here he was, trying to deserve her forgiveness and acceptance by risking his own life, by looking for yet another mirage in an endless desert.

xxx

It was four in the morning when Dobby woke him up and hurried him into the bathroom. Showering sleepily Harry wondered just what exactly did Malfoy have to do at the stupid quidditch pitch so early. His inspection could have waited a few more hours. Rubbing on his tired face harshly with his hands and yawning widely he went down into the smaller tea room where a breakfast had been set for two. Of course, neither Narcissa, nor Draco were going to get up so early to join them.

"Did you sleep well, Mr Potter?" Lucius asked, barely restraining himself from yawning as well and blinking hastily to stop his eyes from glueing together again.

"Yes, sir," Harry sat down, trying not to lean on the table too much. It would be horrible if they had to work often at such ungodly hours.

"Do not worry," Malfoy chuckled, having had read the boy's thoughts on his tired, funny face, "This is only a one time occasion, I myself hate to wake up so early, since I am a night person and prefer to work when it's dark and sleep when it's daylight."

"Like a vampire," Harry smirked to himself, forgetting for a second where he was and to whom he was talking to. However, it was too late to take his words back and he ducked his head, anticipating the worst.

But Lucius only laughed at him, "Yes, you are right, I am very much like a vampire, though, a nice english breakfast is quite enough for me to give me energy to get through the day, the blood is not necessary." Catching his breath, Harry smiled at the blonde wizard, thinking that he should be more cautious with that long tongue of his, since not his every snide remark would be appreciated, certainly. "I wish you could find it easier to relax around me in the future, Mr Potter, for we will be spending a great deal of time together and it would be simply impossible to stay constantly tensed and alerted," Lucius looked into the green eyes, smiling ever so slightly. "I do not bite and I do appreciate a good joke from time to time, for, as you know, my job is not a very pleasant one, definitely lacks any kind of fun."

It was an unexpected confession, however, Harry understood from where Malfoy was coming - it was plausible he never asked for his position in the first place, but being the most trusted follower of the Dark Lord he had no choice but to accept it and see it as a great honour. Shaking his head, Harry gulped down his tea, astonished by his own thoughts. Was he really trying to justify Malfoy, of all people?

"I understand, sir. May I ask what is it exactly that you are ought to perform at the pitch today?"

"You may. We," Lucius emphasized the last word, smiling slyly, "Are ought to check the perimeter for any kind of magical traps, portals and check the staff for polyjuice and glamour disguises. Aurors will arrive shortly after we are done and seclude the pitch. The inspection is actually their job, but I do not trust them with it - they are mostly useless when it comes to catching criminals."

Probably because almost all of them are members of the Resistance, Harry thought bitterly. He nodded in affirmation and the blonde wizard continued, "We both would be performing the spells and you would also write everything down and make a report later, which I will send to the other departments. We are starting out so early because the report is due to be finished by 11 o'clock, an hour before the game begins."

"I see." It all seemed absolutely pointless to Harry, but since it was his job he wasn't going to complain, not to his boss, definitely.

"Oh, I have almost forgotten," Lucius chuckled, waving his hand, "I received your Gringotts' key yesterday. Now you have your own account for the money I am paying you for your work." He held out a small golden key with a carving of a little snake wrapped around a rose on its end.

"Thank you, sir," Harry breathed out, mesmerized with the shiny object, surprisingly heavy and cold on his palm. He had never had his own vault or bank account, never had his own money, always putting his earn into his father's vault, for him and Lily to spend on their needs. "I thought I was-"

"No, no," Lucius shook his head, "I am not going to let you put your money into Potter's vault. You have nothing to do with it, you are an adult, you don't depend on your parents anymore, and the money is yours and yours alone. Were you actually planning to give them everything you earn until you have grown old yourself?"

"I was," Harry blushed, knowing very well what an idiot he was, but it was the least he could do for his family.

"This is most generous of you," the wizard smiled, thinking that he would never grow tired of marveling the boy's innocence. "However, you don't have to pay for your grandfather's mistakes and your father's as well. The fact that they had lost the family's wealth doesn't make you follow in their steps. The way I see it, working for me you would manage to save an amiable sum to turn it into a small fortune of yours in time. You could start it all over, bring back your name's lost glory, get back the money... If you marry into a pureblood family eventually, you would be able to even buy one or two ancient Potter Manors, that stand empty and unwanted, for nobody is interested in spending money on such vast properties."

Lucius tilted his head, watching the young man before him, who was listening to his words and creasing his brow in evident ire. Obviously, he had been thinking about this more than twice, always stopping himself from seeking actual success for the sake of his parents, who had failed at giving him the life he deserved.

"Mr Potter," Lucius leaned closer and peered into the shining green eyes, "I have nothing against your parents, but it is time you thought about your own future, not their feelings. The step you have taken by coming to an interview at my office was a very brave one and I praise you for it. Keep working hard and think about your life and the way you wish to spend it, not of your parent's opinion. After all, if they do love you, they would accept you for who you are and would support you in your hard journey towards your goals."

Watching the older wizard with astonishment, Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing. Everything that Malfoy said was true and he himself had been thinking about it from time to time, hating how materialistic he was, how cynical. He loathed that the blonde was right. Understanding and right.

"Thank you for your advice, sir. I am ashamed to admit I did think about it, many times, but, perhaps, I am simply too naive and romantic," he laughed bitterly into his cup, avoiding the intent gaze of the grey eyes. "You are a great father, sir," he smiled at the other ruefully, thinking that the man indeed was a good parent and a very patient one, standing the insufferable prat that his son was.

"You are indeed a romantic soul, Mr Potter, which I cannot find a disadvantage," Lucius purred, lowering his eyelashes and watching the boy hungrily. He decided he would wait a little, let the wizard get used to him, to his family, to their work and then he would take him. Slowly, gently, he would possess Harry Potter's body and soul. "I will gladly teach you to manage the finances. As for me being a parent," he rolled his eyes and huffed good-naturally, "I will be honest with you, since you know Draco very well. He is a difficult child, a spoiled one, I have missed the years when I could have made him into a worthy heir. Now, as my only son, he is simply waiting to inherit the wealth and waste it carelessly on whatever it is that tickles his fancies. But I love him, though I am angry I cannot change him or influence him to improve himself, I do love him and accept him for who he is. I will simply have to secure my family's fortune for his children to not be left in the streets without a sickle in their pockets." He laughed quietly and Harry couldn't help but laugh as well, watching the small wrinkles gather around the corners of the wizard’s pale grey eyes that held no malice in them. Malfoy was a very attractive man, especially when he was relaxed and talked sincerely, openly, like he was now.

"You shouldn't tell Draco that though, sir," he snorted into his cup, imagining the ferret's hysteria that would surely transpire, should he find out about his father's plans.

"Oh no," Lucius smiled broadly like he hadn't done in a very long time, "I would like to live a little longer than that," he pressed his hand to his side, as it ached from his strong, soundless laughter. It was surprisingly easy and pleasurable to open up to Harry like that, to share something so intimate and personal with him. Perhaps, it was indeed because the boy knew Draco very well, better than he and Narcissa did, or maybe because he felt Harry would understand him and his position better than anybody else could. "I am afraid we have to go, Mr Potter, no time to waste, unfortunately," he chuckled, looking at his pocket watch.

"Yes, sir," Harry readily stood up, clutching his working pad in his hands, which held a stack of documents in it, a magical quill with a never ending ink spelled into its tip and an organizer which had been already full of appointments.

They quickly left through the fireplace and apparated from the Ministry's entrance straight to the location of the pitch. Harry couldn't believe how actually easy-going and content he felt in the company of his new boss. He would have never believed Lucius Malfoy could be such a pleasant company, such an ordinary, simple man, who didn't hold back on smiling and laughing with him. If only he didn't have to write the orders for executions, Harry thought bitterly, he could have even enjoyed his new job, very much indeed.


	3. The northern winds.

" _In order to know virtue, we must first acquaint ourselves with vice." Marquise de Sade._

Harry tried very hard to hide his astonishment and obvious joy when Mr Malfoy took him to the most expensive, fashionable restaurant at Diagon Alley. His parents could have never afforded to come here of course, and to be honest, he himself would have never come here even if he had the money - it was too fancy for him, too aristocratic and snobby. They were met by one of the waitresses, who instantly changed her attitude when she saw who was her guest - this was something that had the tendency to happen to practically everyone Harry had met during his work with his boss.

People cringed at the feet of Lucius Malfoy, they ingratiated themselves with him, not only because of his high position and power, but because of the way he bore himself, because of the atmosphere he built around himself. His whole posture screamed dominance, magnificence, money, allure; women lost their heads at the sight of the glorious wizard, men wished to one day be honored to stand next to the famous general. Harry felt foreign and strange amongst them, embarrassed even. The angry, envious glares that were being thrown his way made him gulp involuntarily in discomfort, as if he had been caught redhanded at the scene of a crime. Unnerved, he followed his boss closely, hiding behind his back most of the time, which made the wizard shake his head amusedly and smirk at Harry when nobody saw them.

"Lord Malfoy, sir, your table is ready and waiting for you!" the girl cried excitedly, batting her eyelashes at Lucius and looking at him with adoration and bold lust, making advances rather openly.

Harry could only raise his eyebrows in wonder - such behavior wasn't quite acceptable in his opinion. Never the one to be sociable with the opposite sex, he had always had an image of an ideal kind of a girl formed in his mind, the kind that was a complete opposite to the waitress, the kind he had never met but hoped to some day. Though now this wasn't what he should have been thinking about - his life and the lives of his parents were at stake.

"Splendid," Lucius drawled, stretching his lips in one of the many fake charming smiles he had learned to use so masterfully. He gestured with his cane for the waitress to lead them and she readily ran forward, shooing everybody else out of their way, turning their entrance into a grandiose royal procession. "Mr Potter, stop hiding behind me. You are not a child and nobody is going to bite you," he murmured, smiling with his eyes only at the shy young man, who was quite elegant even in his insecurity. A natural pureblood lost in the greyness of low life wizards, very much like an expensive blue rose raised amongst simple, boring yellow daises.

"Excuse me, sir," Harry mumbled, when they were seated in a secluded area, right at the tall, wide window looking at the main square, Gringotts bank and the countless tall, crooked rooftops of the distorted houses of the Diagon Alley. "I am not really used to people... Well, throwing themselves at my feet and practically licking my boots, if I may say so." He ducked his head in embarrassment, feeling his cheeks burn with red.

"Yes, I thought so," Lucius chuckled into his curled palm, looking around impassively. "You will have to grow used to it, however. Do not get me wrong, Mr Potter, I am honestly impressed by your genuine inability to take advantage of me and my influence, of your repugnance for using your position to your own mercantile benefit, but this is the order of our world. You are ought to accept it and learn to use it."

"Do you... Do you enjoy the way they act around you, sir?" Harry asked uncertainly, though very curious to hear the answer. He found he indeed could learn a lot from Malfoy, could get acknowledged with the life he could never have. He was genuinely interested in getting to know his employer.

Smiling, sincerely now, at the wizard's modest curiosity Lucius leaned his elbows on the table and propped his head on his loosely folded hands.

"I can't say I enjoy it, Mr Potter. To be honest with you, I simply do not care. I was raised with a notion I will always be treated in such fashion - my blood and my wealth are the guarantee of that. They may worship me and advance on me all they want - they will never get more than a smile in return, I have no wish to gratify their petty ambitions."

"So you think that if they were not born with a noble name and fortune - they do not deserve them?" he couldn't help but wonder.

"No," Lucius shook his head, smiling even broader, mirthfully and pleasantly, for Harry always asked just the right kind of questions. "Those who deserve to be helped and given my attention and time must be wizards and witches of particular talents, with deep and bright personalities, they must intrigue me in one way or another. Like you do, Mr Potter," he raised one of his thin eyebrows elegantly, pointedly looking at the young man. "Most people are rather dull and boring even if they at first seem to be hardworking, ambitious, promising. I hate wasting time and money on those - I get nothing out of it but disappointment."

Creasing his brow, Harry pondered over what Malfoy said. His logic wasn't flawless, but it was practical, therefore it could be useful. "I never thought I could belong to the category of the intriguing wizards, as you put it, sir," he offered quietly, stealing careful glances at the older wizard, who was watching him amusedly.

"You seem to be of a very low opinion of yourself, Mr Potter, we will have to change that," Lucius sighed humorously and flicked his fingers for the waitress to serve them. "I believe you would not object if I choose your lunch for you, would you?"

"No, of course not, sir," Harry shook his head gratefully. It would have been most embarrassing for him to read the menu and try to guess what were those french names of courses that sounded more like an abracadabra to him.

"Bring us the usual then and two glasses of white wine, the one I always have here," he drawled, barely looking at the girl, whose eyes were begging him to take her. Pathetic little whore, he thought evilly, wrinkling his nose in disdain.

Lucius took only the best, only those who were worth the hard work of seducing. Harry was worth it, he knew. He watched the young man, who was reading his journal and marking something on the margins with an adorable slight frown on his face, that signified his concentration on the task. Admiring him from afar was both pleasing and annoyingly unsatisfying, for Lucius craved more: to touch, to hold, to have. But it was too early for that yet, or had he become so impatient with age? Or, perhaps, it was all Harry's fault, perhaps, he was affecting him stronger than anybody else? Mysteries always turned Lucius on, he loved solving riddles and playing games.

A bowl of steaming soup of purple colour was placed before him and Harry stared at it in childish wonder, absentmindedly thinking that to eat food of the brightest, strangest colours was very much like Malfoy. It wouldn't have surprised Harry if the man chose meals to match his clothes.

"It is made of berries, Mr Potter. Try it - I am certain you would find it to your liking," Lucius offered, raising his glass and smirking from behind it cunningly.

Harry was so easy to impress, so easy to buy with the simplest things. He knew he wouldn't need to spend money on expensive gifts, jewelry and other rubbish, all he would have to do is to be natural and sincere with the young man, which was an exciting prospect for Lucius, who couldn't remember when was the last time he could relax around another person, could speak freely, didn't have to lie and flatter... It had been so long ago, so long...

"It is very nice," Harry smiled brilliantly, closing his eyes in pleasure and savouring the sweet flavour on his tongue. His blinding smile made Lucius' heart skip its beat, so wonderfully alluring it was - the wizard's beauty was going to cost him many sleepless nights filled with voluptuous fantasies. "Thank you for gifting me with such sweet treats, Mr Malfoy. I don't think I deserve a rich lunch like the one we are having, I am not the one to appreciate its delicacy, I am afraid," Harry sighed over his now empty dish and sipped on the wine, that attacked his senses with warm, sour taste, made his head spin slightly, spreading slowly through his blood, lessening the tension in his muscles.

"Nonsense, Mr Potter," Lucius waved his hand dismissively, hungrily taking in the slight blush on the other's cheeks - the wine affected Harry strongly, his emerald eyes shone like precious gems, gleaming mischievously and artfully.

The sight made Lucius wonder what kind of a person his assistant truly was, what kind of a demon was dormant in his soul - even though he knew how much Draco loved to exaggerate and make up lies about those he didn't like, he knew his son had always had his reasons for it. Lucius was certain that Harry wasn't that easy to read, wasn't as saint as he looked... Oh how he wished to turn him inside out, to get the taste of the man's true nature. A powerful and an intelligent wizard like Harry Potter could become a dangerous opponent or a quite beneficial, reliable comrade - it was Lucius' aim to mold him into the latter.

"You will learn all about it in no time, believe me. As soon as you will taste the whole palette of the most delicious cuisines available to a man you will know the difference and will easily become an expert, I promise."

Harry straightened up and shook his head a little, trying to banish away the slight dizziness the wine left him in. "May I ask for a favour, sir?"

"Depends on what kind of a favour do you mean, Mr Potter," Lucius gave him a small smile, raising his eyebrows curiously.

"May I use one of your owls to send letters home?"

He was supposed to meet James every weekend, but after having spent a week working under Malfoy he had little hope to see his family that often. There was just too much work. And, if he was honest with himself, Harry really had no wish to meet with the Resistance, to recite all of the names he had signed up for an execution or a torture. He desperately tried to distance himself from the most abhorrent part of his job, he didn't need any more patronizing and pitying glances or pats on the shoulders. He didn't want to spy for them anymore, but he couldn't quit working for Malfoy - only through dying, that much was obvious. Harry decided it would be easier to write to his parents to assure them of his well-being.

"Oh, that! Mr Potter, you shouldn't even ask of something that goes without saying! Of course you may use our owls and elves for your personal needs," Lucius laughed quietly, amused by how ridiculously modest the wizard was. A virtue he thought he would never grow used to. "I am sure your parents would be very happy to hear from you, since I can't yet let you visit them due to the amount of work we have to deal with," he sighed theatrically, thinking that he would be checking every letter that Harry would send and receive - it wouldn't hurt to be cautious, besides, he was curious to learn of the man's life, his past, his present, everything that was hidden from him. It was an intrusion into personal space, but such formalities had never once stood in Lucius' way before and he wasn't going to suddenly become a decent politician now, of all times, when he had an opportunity to get to know his object of admiration and desire. He could find something he could easily use against Harry later or, on the contrary, in his interests.

"Thank you, sir," Harry smiled gratefully, shyly and averted his eyes, hiding behind his journal again.

The way Malfoy reacted to his genuine kindness and good nature was truly perplexing, troubling. At first he thought the wizard was suspecting him, but now he wasn't sure anymore. Now he couldn't help but wonder if the way he was treated was quite typical for an assistant of a high ranking Death Eater or if it was him alone, who was treated particularly well, generously, carefully? He wished he could just ask, but knew it wouldn't be appreciated.

Lucius rolled his eyes, showing how insignificant and pointless Harry's worries were. "Try the dessert, it is especially good in this establishment," he suggested, when the annoying waitress brought the ice-cream of black and blood red colours.

"This is amazing!" Harry breathed out in astonishment, after he tasted a little bit of it - unlike any other kind of an ice-cream he had had in his life before, this particular one tasted like a whole specter of things: berries, flowers, wood, river, algae and citruses. Forgetting where he was, he took a mouthful of both colours and licked on the long spoon slowly, all but purring in pleasure.

"I am glad you find it to your satisfaction," Lucius drawled, barely restraining himself from licking on his own lips in want.

The sight of Harry sucking on the spoon so carelessly and seductively made him swallow harshly, as his imagination helpfully offered the visions of the most desirable things these red lips could do to him. Grateful he wore a layered robe today Lucius crossed his legs, wincing in discomfort. When was the last time he got aroused so strongly in a restaurant? He doubted he had ever experienced erection on public. ‘There is always a first time for everything,’ the deep, mocking voice of the Dark Lord whispered in his mind. ‘Indeed,’ Lucius had no option but to agree.

xxx

"I am afraid you can't see Mr Malfoy today, sir, he is very busy."

Severus Snape watched the raven haired boy politely send an unwanted visitor away, as he stood by Lucius' door and paged through the thick files, looking for specific documents he needed to copy. At first Severus barely recognized him, since he had never seen Potter without his atrocious glasses. But looking at him now he couldn't help but conclude that the annoying brat had very little of James Potter in him, he resembled Lily so strongly, so obviously, Severus couldn't believe he hadn't noticed it before.

The young wizard grew taller, broader in shoulders - he still had the small, delicate frame of a Seeker, but didn't look like an underfed child anymore; his hair was longer now, tamed and lay in beautiful short waves around his head, very much like a halo; the boy's bright green eyes stood out against his pale skin and complimented his red lips that were always laughing, bearing the ghost of a soft, hearted smile. If Severus was honest with himself, he could admit that beside his black hatred for James Potter there was also a contempt for the boy's attitude, his genuinely good, kind nature, that made Severus loath him so much at school. He simply couldn't stand those who were weaker or worse than him in any way, but were capable of smiling and enjoying life, had no malice inside them, that surged through his veins like poison.

"Admiring my assisstant, aren't you?" Lucius smirked at his friend and leaned forward to pour more brandy into his glass. They had been sitting in his office for almost an hour already, discussing the latest changes in Hogwart's wards and listening to Harry doing his job outside, telling everybody off and sorting out the latest internal correspondence. "He is quite the sight," he added lazily, crossing his legs and pushing his armchair a little to the side to see the young wizard better through the open door.

"I have had the pleasure of admiring him, as you put it, for seven years and I pray to Circe I wouldn't have to enjoy his company more often than necessary, meaning never," Severus sighed, giving the other man one of his most scathing looks. "I still find it hard to grasp the idea that he actually came to work for you. Potter and politics are two most polar, incompatible notions you could find. And why have you even chosen him? For his looks? I see how well he would contrast with your fair, enthralling persona," he drawled acidly, sipping on his drink.

"Oh, Severus, why do you have to be so rude all the time?" Lucius chuckled softly, shaking his head and laughing inwardly at his friend's typical attitude. "He is indeed beautiful, I can't believe you have never told me anything about him. But I chose him because of his talents, which you have praised so highly in your reference, and because of his origins. He might be a half-blood, but he is a Potter nevertheless, his blood is very powerful, if it wasn't for his mother he would have been in the highest position in our society now, betrothed to one of the daughters of Parkinson or Greengrass."

"He has no money," Severus grimaced, finishing his glass and dropping it carelessly onto the rug. If he had married Lily Evans then, he would have been in James Potter's place now, penniless and ridiculed. No, he didn't regret their separation even a little - he wouldn't have been able to bear with a life of a despised half-blood more than he had had to in his youth. He had everything he wanted now and Lily Evans got what she deserved.

"It is but a little obstacle for such a promising young man as our Mr Potter," Lucius shrugged his shoulders. "I have already made it clear with him, that the money I am paying are not to be given to his parents. He is far from stupid, Severus, he wants a better life, he wants to achieve something, unlike his father. I can't help but encourage that."

"Since when have you become so generous, Lucius?" the headmaster of Hogwarts narrowed his black eyes at the blond wizard. "Careful, my friend, you are losing focus, blinded by his youth and beauty."

"I know you suspect Potters of helping the Resistance, but the boy is perfectly clean and innocent. I have checked everything after my last fiasco." Lucius sighed tiredly, twisting his mouth in displeasure at the memories of the long, painful torture under the Dark Lord's wand - their master rarely forgave mistakes like the one he had let himself make. "He is definitely not polyjuiced and he is not trying to save any of those we prosecute - only one man has escaped arrest since Mr Potter started working for me and he was most insignificant and useless, as it has turned out later."

"He is a black sheep, Lucius, I don't trust him," Severus turned to give his friend a dark, warning look. "Ever since he came to Hogwarts he was a rara avis amongst gryffindors. He never belonged in their house, always so shy and quiet, practically invisible behind his loud and obnoxious friends. He is canny and too smart for his own good."

"Severus," Lucius snorted into his fist, shaken with a strong bout of laughter, "To listen to you it is as if you were describing our master, in all honesty." He coughed to clear his throat and went on, leaning closer to the other wizard, "I know he is not what he seems, I know there are many hidden talents and sides to his personality I am going to discover sooner or later, but believe me, Severus, he is not as bad as you are trying to make him. It is your anger and envy inside your heart talking, not your mind."

"I do not envy Potter!" he hissed, affronted.

"You can't fool me," Lucius raised his index finger and waved it into the dark wizard's face, almost hitting him on his long, crooked nose. "You always envied James Potter because of that mudblood. You still do. Thank Circe you were intelligent enough not to pursue your childish dream to be the prince of the fairy tale and chose the right path - I can't imagine what would have happened to you were you to marry her!"

Rolling his eyes in exasperation, Severus huffed, "You can imagine it perfectly well, stop being the insufferable prat - it doesn't suit you anymore."

He shifted in his armchair, wrapping his cloak tighter around himself, trying to scare the other man off with his angry scowl, but, unfortunately, Lucius was one of the few who were immune to his unpleasant personality. The brightly smiling wizard simply shook his head and relaxed, sliding down in his seat and stretching out his long legs.

"I should legilimize him," Severus offered after a short pause. "It wouldn't hurt to make sure he is actually as perfect as you want him to be. Though I doubt you would be pleased with what I will find in that head of his," he muttered, sending Harry's back a scornful look. Unlike at Hogwarts, here the brat was as hard-working as one could only imagine. He did all Lucius' work for him, and did it fast - who would have thought he could be so ambitious and disciplined?

"No need for such extreme methods yet, Severus," Lucius widened his eyes in feigned terror. "I would resort to Legilimency only when the situation calls for it."

"There are only two masters of Legilimency in Britain, the Dark Lord and I, and none of us is going to indulge you whenever it is to your fancy to check yet another toy of yours," he growled lowly, creasing his brow. How careless Lucius became when he found himself a new victim for his endless love games, it was most ridiculous. "You would once again burn yourself and I will once again say ‘I told you so’. To be honest I am getting rather tired of it."

Lucius wrinkled his nose at the sarcasm that was practically dripping of Severus' words. "Oh, please, spare me. I know, I know and I am telling you there is no need for such extremity."

Just when Severus wanted to add something particularly nasty Harry entered the office, bearing a few files in his hands.

"Excuse me, sirs," he bowed his head to both wizards, "Mr Malfoy, I have found all the necessary documents. Would you like to look them through or should I just copy and sign them for you?" He looked impassively between them, keeping his lips stretched in his usual welcoming smile. Harry was most afraid of Snape, for it felt as if the man saw right through him, as if, just like a muggle x-ray machine, he could see all the secrets hidden inside him. A cold shiver ran down his spine and he had to clutch on his files tighter to not show it.

"No, Mr Potter, just copy and sign, if you please," Lucius waved his hand dismissively and smiled at his lovely assistant.

"Mr Potter, you have changed since our last encounter, dramatically, I must say," Severus drawled, narrowing his eyes at the boy, and steepled his fingers before him, pressing the tips of the index fingers against his lips. "May I ask what is the cause of such an unexpected transformation?"

"It was you, sir, who inspired me to change," Harry offered, smiling brilliantly, but cringing inwardly under the heavy gaze of cold, onyx eyes, that were practically skinning him. "After we had that short talk I have realized I needed to do something with my useless, worthless life, of which you never forget to remind me whenever you see me..."

Lucius raised his hand just in time to prevent Severus from cursing Harry into oblivion. "Now, now, my friend, you are overreacting!" he couldn't help but laugh, for the young wizard was truly bold, like any other gryffindor, to mock somebody as powerful and dangerous as Snape.

"You dare to cover for him," Severus sneered, shaking the man's hand off of his shoulder. "I bet it is rather enjoyable to listen to him mocking me. I wonder if you have already put him down on his knees to deserve such a protection from you!" he bit out angrily and with a last hateful glare at Harry stormed out of the office.

After the door closed behind him with a deafening bang Lucius only shook his head and gestured for Harry to sit down. "Never mind him, Mr Potter, he is always so bitter and unpleasant, however, he is a very good friend..." he trailed off, frowning at the last words thrown at him as a slap on the face. He wondered if Harry noticed them and understood what did they mean exactly. "However, do refrain from mocking him in the future. I can't always protect you from Snape's wrath. And since you are not a student, he wouldn't be taking points or giving detentions, he would be treating you as an adult that you are - he might duel you and that is where your chances are very low even with all these talents of yours," he gave him a pointed look and sat down on the other side of the desk.

"Excuse me, sir," Harry hung his head, "But I wasn't mocking him. What I said was true." What else could he tell Malfoy? Not his real reasons for joining his office, surely.

"Oh, Mr Potter," Lucius sighed, looking at him in amusement and joy, "You will never cease to surprise me!" He gestured for the young man to continue with his work and watched him put the perfect copy of his signature on the bottom of every page. "You should be careful, Mr Potter," he said after he had considered if he should warn the other at all, "Severus Snape is not the one to be messed with. I would not put it past him to attack you when you least expect - he is the essence of everything slytherin in our world. And he is a master of Legilimency - he would not warn you before intruding into your mind and would not be gentle about this."

"Legilimency?" Harry raised his head up sharply, feeling his insides freeze in horror. Snape was a master of Legilimency and nobody had ever warned him about that. What were they thinking?! What was the point of coming here and lying and pretending, when his disguise could have been easily blown by the bloody old bat?!

"I do hope you know what it is," Lucius raised his eyebrows in a mild concern, seeing how pale Harry suddenly turned.

"Y-yes," he breathed out, "I... I simply didn't think there were any masters of this art alive in Britain." It was a pathetic excuse, but he couldn't come up with anything smarter, since his legs and arms went numb and his heart sank right into his gut it seemed.

"There are two masters in Britain: the Dark Lord and headmaster Snape," Lucius explained, speaking nonchalantly, but watching the young man out of the corner of his eye. Perhaps, the boy suddenly realized that Severus had in fact intruded into his mind before? It would have been quite typical for the snarky man to read some of his students from time to time. "Albus Dumbledore is also a master of Legilimency, but since he has escaped abroad we would not count him..."

Tapping on his lips with his manicured finger, Lucius hummed to himself in thought that he had to improve Harry's knowledge of the current situation in the country, in their ranks. It was imperative his personal assistant knew each and every wizard and their talents and weaknesses - information was the ultimate weapon against anyone in this world and Lucius knew that he could use Harry's bright mind and memory to his own advantage.

"I would take you to one of the parties with me, to introduce you to the highest society and to teach you use your natural talents and gifts to your benefit."

"You are too kind, sir," Harry stared at him in terror. He would definitely fuck his cover up in a company of the whole Death Eater party! "I doubt they would want to have a Potter in attendance, though..."

"With such attitude you would never succeed in anything, young man," Lucius chided, raising an imperious eyebrow at the other's insecurity. "They would accept you, because you work for me - my choice is inarguable. Besides, we all know that it is most unfair for a young and bright man as you are, Mr Potter, to suffer for the sins of your father. Your mother's blood is the only imperfection of yours, which could be easily ignored in favour of your most impressive persona," he added, smiling slyly and involuntarily lowering his eyelashes, watching Harry lustfully.

"Y-you overestimate m-me, sir," Harry mumbled, tugging on the tight collar of his shirt in discomfort and blushing fiercely in embarrassment.

He might have been completely inexperienced in the field of love and romance, sex, but he wasn't that thick to miss the hunger, that was all but burning in the pale grey eyes of his boss, who kept looking at him in such a provocative fashion... It had been two weeks already, since he started working for Malfoy and he couldn't help but feel anxious every time the wizard did something for him. His generosity seemed hardly believable, yet it was very much real, Harry knew he wasn't dreaming. The longer he stayed with Malfoy, the more gratifying, attentive, the kinder the man became. The thought that the impeccable, beautiful and dangerous wizard was flirting with him made Harry laugh nervously on the inside. Impossible!

"Do I?" Lucius leaned forward and slowly pulled the parchment out of the young wizard's shaking hands, barely holding down the quivering corners of his thin lips. "I pray differently. I think everyone has been underestimating you for your whole life, Mr Potter... Why did you let them do that - is a different matter altogether, though I am very interested to know your reasons... You would not fool me, my dear," he finally smiled, cruelly, and one of his fingers stroked Harry's cold hand, seemingly by an accident. "I see your potential and I intend to use it to its full extent."

Perhaps, he was being tested after all? The complements he had been graced with sounded more like threats to Harry and he held his breath, lost, uncertain what was he supposed to say and do in a situation he found himself in. Running wasn't an option, was it?

xxx

Brushing his fingers lovingly over the old, tattered spines Harry slowly walked past the endless shelves, crammed with countless books, almanacs and scrolls. Malfoy's library was enormous, he was certain he could find absolutely anything here, even muggle literature. Though it wasn't what he was looking for now - he needed to learn Occlumency and fast. What other choice did he have, really? He had seen most of the young members of the Resistance, he knew their names, his father and godfather were amongst them - should he be tortured or legilimized this would be the end of the opposing party and of his family. Shuddering at the thought that his mother would be executed because of his failure he turned right and faced one of the tall cases that housed the scientific literature.

Harry took a small book of magical fairy tales out of his pocket - the one Lily used to read to him so often when he was little - he had prepared it for one smart spell he created in his last year at the school. The text of the Occlumency manual was going to be hidden inside a child's book, spelled to be visible only at the password being said. It was most useful during the History of Magic lessons at Hogwarts, which Harry always found lethally boring, and since he had been once caught reading a novel right under the teacher's nose, he had to come up with a spell to save his own time and nerves.

"Can't sleep, Mr Potter?" Narcissa's weak voice made Harry jerk in fear and he grabbed on the nearest tome he could reach. "Trying to lull yourself into Morpheus' embrace by reading... the Philosophy of Potions?" she asked sarcastically, coming closer and holding her wand over him to see better in the thick darkness of the library. Faint light painted her pale skin an unhealthy grey colour and Harry couldn't help but think that she looked like a zombie from one of the muggle horror films that Sirius loved to take him to during summer holidays.

"Y-yes, madame," he swallowed nervously, having had barely taken a look at the cover, frantically squeezing the book in his hands, grateful he managed to hide the fairy tales back into his robes.

"You navigate really well in complete darkness, Draco was right," Narcissa sighed somewhat humorously and smoothed the invisible wrinkles on her night robe. "Perhaps, Lucius should give you more work to help you fight that insomnia of yours, Mr Potter, which is rather untypical for a healthy young man of your age."

He wanted to make an acid remark that, perhaps, it was his work that kept him awake at nights, but bit on his tongue, knowing too well that one wrong word or glance could cost him his life. Unlike Lucius, Narcissa was wary of him and never missed a chance to let him know how 'highly' she thought of him. Her every gesture and sigh showed just how insignificant, useless and disgusting Harry was in her eyes, how dangerous, as if he was some kind of infection, a plague walking around the house.

"I thought I might find a solution here," he said quietly, holding the book up in front of her, looking down respectfully, though for Harry it felt like submission and he hated how nauseating the sensation was. He never thought he would be forced to submit to such an unpleasant woman like Lady Malfoy.

"Hmm, perhaps," she drawled tiredly and turned around to leave, "Next time choose a more appropriate hour to visit our library, Mr Potter."

Holding his breath and clutching the book close to his chest, Harry watched her thin, almost opaque, ghostly form dissipate into the darkness of the night. It took him five more minutes to finally relax a little and breathe. If Narcissa was going to watch him so closely he would no doubt blow his cover. Turning on his shaking legs he moved towards the shelf with the works on Mind Magic that were kept on it. Harry lighted up his wand and checked the aisles around him - nobody was here to see him commit his 'crime'.

"Alright, here we go," he breathed out shakily and took the first thick tome that bore withered golden letters on its spine 'The Art of Occlumency'. Harry paged through, quickly scanning the text, for there was no index - it looked a lot like a theory of the art itself, not the manual how to actually protect one's mind. Huffing impatiently to himself he put it back and reached for another one - he had no time to waste reading useless rubbish.

It was the thin green book that caught his eye - it had no writings on it, looked old and used, but inside Harry found exactly what he had been looking for for the past half an hour. Strangely enough it was handwritten and looked more like a personal journal with a tutorial left for close friends or relatives - though Harry found no signatures and no names, it felt very familiar, easy to read and understand. The spidery handwriting suggested it was written by a man, language and particular words suggested the author was barely older than Harry, when he made it, but the condition of the paper and cover showed that he lived at least in the 1940s. Intrigued and relieved that he had finally found something useful Harry took his book of fairy tales and placed it opened next to the journal.

"This should work," he whispered hopefully and pointed his wand at the green book, murmuring the long incantation.

It was a true wonder how easily the formulas of the spells came to his mind, how naturally he was able to perform them from the first try, as if his magic was the very air he breathed - perhaps, it was. The long, thin writings slowly floated into his red book of fairy tales, pushing the printed text to the side and nestling neatly between the paragraphs, and slowly dried out and disappeared into the greyness of the paper. Page by page he copied the text and locked it inside his book, looking around fearfully and waiting for somebody to jump at him from behind and catch him redhanded... But nobody came. Heaving a sigh of hysterical relief Harry put the journal back and spelled the dust to cover it just like it used to. He took the potions tome and hurried to leave. Now the most difficult part was left - to learn to occlude his mind as soon as possible.

Safe in his room he locked the door, climbed onto his bed and hid himself behind the thick, heavy covers, careful to conceal his reading from the painting, that was looking straight at him. He never saw anybody entering the landscape, but often sensed that he was being watched - that was more than enough to be cautious and stay alerted all the time. "The red riding hood," Harry said quietly to the red book in his hands and the handwriting showed through the printed text.

"It is truly amusing how little is actually known to wizards about Occlumency and Legilimency, practically nothing. I have spent months researching the many different useless books, that circulate around the subject but never delve into it enough to give the actual knowledge, to teach the skill. I am starting this journal to keep the record of my experiments and progress in the matter. Certainly, I will master the art of both sciences, of that I have little doubts, though I hate to imagine how much time I will waste in order to achieve my goal, blindly walking in the darkness of others' ignorance of the subject..."

Harry could only roll his eyes in exasperation at the author's haughty, overconfident tone - perhaps, this wizard was one of Malfoys? He seemed to have all of the family's traits that made them stand out so obviously.

 

"The basic difference between Legilimency and Occlumency is that the former requires a spell to be casted and a willing to invade other's mind, while the latter has no spelling, practically no magical foundation to it and depends on one's power and strength of will only. Because of that I have decided to start with Legilimency first, to learn to read other's minds and secrets and to find out what exactly does it feel like to experience the foreign presence in one's head - once I know all the details it would be easier to create the mind shields. One can't build walls without bricks: data is what I need."

 

"A. described my presence as a foul, despicable essence, wandering around his thoughts - can't help but accept this as a compliment."

Harry chuckled, smiling lightly at the author's words. He found he liked him and his dark sense of humor and was intrigued to follow his progress, grateful that he had found this journal, which was surely going to make his own struggle with the mind shields much easier.

"Delving into his mind was an indescribable experience. There are hardly any words to express how elating and satisfying is the sensation of turning the other inside out, of invading his most intimate and treasured possession - his imagination. Memories were not that interesting, to be fair, they did remind me of dreams. However, A.'s fantasies were a completely different matter altogether. But I would concentrate on that later."

"It took me almost three hours to enter his mind and right now I am writing on the verge of my strength, completely exhausted and drained, both physically and magically. The experience is quite painful for the both participants, my migraine is the lesser of all the possible aftereffects - A. has been retching for almost an hour, said it felt as if he had spent a week at the sea on a boat without his wand and drinking water. Apart from the will to enter the mind of a person a wizard has to possess great powers, for it is his magic that is breaking through the invisible barrier of time and... Soul? It is unknown what exactly do I have to trespass in order to read the thoughts and see the lies, but it demands a lot of self discipline. I found the source of the necessary strength to bring on the last victorious blow in the desire to hurt A. It is indeed quite typical for the darkest of magical arts to be based on the most hurtful, animalistic emotions, although Legilimency is neither dark, nor light. This science is indifferent, like the magic itself - it is the intent only, that puts it on the either side of the morality, if I may say so."

 

"W. described my intrusion into her mind almost identically to A. It had affected her even worse and she had to be taken into the Hospital Wing afterwards. Unfortunately I still don't know how to control my power, which is great and therefore is hard to manipulate yet - experience and complete harmony with my magic would come only with age, as much as it galls me to admit it."

A Hospital Wing, a young age... Harry raised his eyebrows in a mild surprise - the author who had written the journal was even younger then him, was still at Hogwarts, when he attempted to learn Occlumency! He must have been very powerful. Curiously Harry thought if the man was still alive and if he was, was there a chance he would one day meet him? Had he met him already, perhaps? Intrigued, he hurried to read further.

"It would be troublesome to learn Occlumency when there is nobody to intrude into my mind and actually make me want to defend my thoughts, however, I am certain I will manage fine without it."

I hope I will too, Harry sighed inwardly. There was nobody he could ask for help either. Snape? When he was ready to die, he would surely turn to the man...

"The books suggest one should relax and enter his own consciousness in order to learn to shield his mind, one of the modern texts mentioned 'meditation' as a form of relaxation. It took me almost a week to reach for my consciousness and magical core, but as soon as I have managed it I started feeling and thinking differently. It takes some time to get accustomed to the odd sensation of being able to practically touch my own thoughts and wield my magic like never before. I still have little understanding of the process of shielding, but as far as I know I have made great progress. Meditation should be performed every night for a couple of hours before going to sleep. Muscle relaxation potion helped immensely, since it is quite impossible to get rid of the tension in my neck and back after long hours of studying, writing, playing quidditch and dueling. Clearing one's mind - a phrase that could be found in any Occlumency text and is supposed to cover the whole principle of the art itself - is a process of gradually ceasing thinking and acknowledging one's surroundings. Slowly falling into myself, listening to the sound of my heartbeat, gently feeling for the faint pulse underneath the blood rushing through my veins - the pulse of my magic. As soon as I grasp it, like the golden thread that helped Theseus to escape the labyrinth of the minotaur, I pull on it and follow its lead into the deeper darkness than there is in the shadows against the light of the sun..."

Mesmerized, Harry read, hungrily catching every word. The explanation seemed brilliant to him, the pulse the author spoke of was exactly what he had sensed so many times when he worked on the spells and curses during his last years at Hogwarts - he knew what he had to be looking for, everything was so clear to him. How was it possible that only one man, a boy, was able to analyze all the useless material he could find and turn it into the most comprehensible manual Harry had ever read?

He smiled when he noticed a marking on the margins made in a different ink colour.

"You are truly thick, aren't you? Your wandless magic should have given you the hint where to look for the source of your power and how to control it. Occlumency is a wandless magic of your mind."

Harry laughed, shaking his head in amusement at the author's self-berating - it felt as if he was having a conversation with the boy from another time. And this mysterious boy was indeed right - wandless magic that Harry had been practicing for so long was giving him the strongest sensation of feeling his magic inside him, his core... If only every subject was explained so clearly and easily, so well at Hogwarts!

"You were truly brilliant, weren't you?" he whispered to the journal, watching it with admiration, caressing its old, tattered pages. It looked used, as if the author had been addressing it many times later in the course of his life. Intrigued, Harry opened the last pages - they were filled with long, intricate formulas and diagrams, that had clearly no relation to the art of Occlumency.

These were spells. Handcrafted spells and curses, some so dark and cruel, that Harry felt goosebumps cover his legs and arms. The author was one of the darkest warlocks, he had no doubt of that now. Letting out a shuddering breath, he closed the book and put it on the other side of the bed, looking at it in fear and rapture. This man was either one of Malfoys' predecessors or one of the Dark Lord's generals - if he was alive, that is. Lucius said there were only two masters of Legilimency alive in Britain and none of them could have fit the image of the man that Harry had formed in his mind. The fact that the journal, which turned out to be a personal spellbook, had been collecting dust on the shelves of Malfoy's library made Harry come to a conclusion that it had been either forgotten here or nobody had even known of its existence. How odd it was that he had to be the one to find it...

Harry sighed and lay down, wrapping himself tightly into the sheets. He probably wouldn't manage to even relax tonight, since he had only a couple of hours left for sleep, but he decided to give it a try anyway. He stared into the hearth, watching the weak flame dance unsteadily, throwing a faint light onto the dark wooden floor.

"Incendio," he whispered quietly, creasing his brow slightly in concentration - the fire roared to life, cracking loudly, sending shower of sparkles onto the rug.

And there it was, a weak pulse underneath Harry's skin, a slight itching under his fingernails. Moaning tiredly and brushing the beads of sweat off of his forehead he closed his eyes and tried to relax as much as he could. Such difficult spells still came hard to him without a wand, they called for a much more energetic, stronger condition than he was in now. He searched for the 'golden thread', but his mind was filled with so many different images, it was impossible to concentrate on anything at all.

Weren't those dark curses he found in the journal the ones his father had told him about? The ones that were prohibited along with the Unforgivables and were not used even today, even under the Dark regime? He thought he should have felt like a criminal, holding the source of the banned spells in his hands - nobody knew their creator, the curses came from the Death Eaters and that was all that was known about them - but he didn't. Harry felt... curious and excited. Was it due to the diversity of their education at school, or was it simply due to his own nature, but he always found himself being pulled towards the dark magic, it intrigued him. Ever since he came to Hogwarts and discovered the other side to magic he thought he changed. Perhaps, this was the reason why Lily grew suddenly cold and distant towards him?

But Harry never crossed the lines, always keeping himself confined to the necessary minimum that was taught - he knew the price of falling for the dark power, Sirius had scared him so many times with his bedtime stories of Bellatrix Lestrange, who was a fine example of what the darkness could do to a human being. Although his godfather made it all look like her hunger for pleasure of killing and destroying had driven her insane, Harry seriously doubted that the Head of the Torturing Division in Voldemort's government was just a woman who had one day lost her mind. He was certain she was born mad, and that was the only reason she got that position at all.

Sighing and yawning Harry rolled on his other side and opened his eyes only to see the journal lying innocently next to him, the red cover of the fairy tale book barely visible in the darkness under the canopy of his bed. He knew when to stop, he knew the difference between sense and lust, he had never been seduced by the darkness in his life, nor was he now. But the person that created these illegal spells seemed to be so brilliant, so knowledgable, so interesting, he couldn't help but admire him and felt compelled to share his gift - this was what this journal could be. A gift to the next generation of dark wizards. A gift to Harry. He snorted and pushed the annoying book under his pillow. He wasn't a dark wizard, though he doubted he was light either, not after practicing dark curses so much at the school. After all, he thought, rubbing on his face exhaustedly and yawning again, there is truly no difference between light and dark. It is all the intent that makes the difference.

Harry never wanted to kill or torture, never found any satisfaction in hurting others - he was safe from the allure of the greater power, of the 'tainted pleasure'. Why couldn't he be interested in the scientific side of the matter? He was a spellcrafter after all, there was no difference to him what use his spells could have - all he wished was to create them, to stretch the boundaries of what was set as a stone hard truth and limit of his possibilities. It wasn't the Dark or the Light that could help him overcome the confinements and become a true master of the spellcrafting, but his own will and courage.

xxx

A nervous and sleepless week later at an early Friday dinner at Malfoy Manor Lucius announced that Harry had earned himself a free weekend, since he had been working so hard for more than a month already and since Lucius and Narcissa were leaving to visit their relatives abroad. Draco, who had been mostly absent during Harry's stay with Malfoys, made a nasty remark about the filth going back where it belonged, but Harry ignored him as always, smiling gratefully at his boss and pointedly avoiding to look at Narcissa. Her hostility seemed to worsen day by day, even Draco, being the insufferable brat and an elementary bastard that he was, didn't behave as negatively towards Harry, as did his mother. The obnoxious blonde was simply a spoilt child - bearing with him was an old game to Harry, the one he was never going to tire of. But Narcissa was a completely different matter altogether. Harry couldn't help but think she was jealous of him, jealous that Lucius spent so much time with him and even in the evenings the wizard preferred to have his tea in the study, sitting opposite his assistant and watching him work, rather than gossiping with his wife.

However, he left with a heavy heart, for he knew he would be forced to meet with the opposition. They were certainly displeased with his silence, but Harry was simply too frightened and too unwilling to risk his life and his ambiguous position. He regretted his decision terribly, yet the desire to help Lily helped him go on, helped him hold on... And, reluctantly, he had to admit to himself he liked working for Malfoy, he liked working with him, he enjoyed all the fruits of leading a rich, luxurious life, he appreciated everything he was taught by the haughty but at the same time wise and intelligent, interesting wizard. Yes, Lucius interested him, even though Harry felt very uncomfortable under the man's sometimes baldly lustful stares, he still enjoyed his company and his wit. If only he was in a different position he could have said that Lucius became his friend, a mentor certainly, but also a friend.

"Harry, finally!" James grabbed on him, as soon as Harry apparated into the living room of their small cottage at Godric Hollow, and squeezed him painfully in his heated embrace. "I thought that witch would never let you come home again!"

"It's fine, fine, dad, don't break my spine! I'm glad to see you too," Harry couldn't help but laugh at his old man's antics and circled his arms around his father's broad back, smiling into one of his red gryffindor sweaters, that Molly Weasley had been knitting for them every year. It smelt of sweat and food, as all of James' clothes did, no matter how often Lily washed them.

"Look at you, you are dressed so fancily and... Harry, are they feeding you at all? You are even thinner than you used to be!" James felt for his arms and shoulders, sounding too cheerful for Harry's taste. It was obvious that he was nervous.

"I eat very well, I just have to work a lot and don't get enough sleep, stop fussing over me like some mother hen," he pushed the man playfully away and turned just in time to see Lily come into the room with her reddened hands covered by the towel. It seemed that she had been doing nothing but cleaning and washing up all this time.

"Mom!" He hurled at her and enveloped her into a tight embrace before she could move away from him, like she had been doing for the past five years. Lily froze in his hold, standing hard as a rock, with her head tucked under his chin rather awkwardly, but then slowly her arms circled his waist and an idiotic grin stretched Harry's face as he buried it in her red hair. "I missed you so much," he whispered and pressed her even closer to his chest, barely holding back the tears of joy, that threatened to escape his eyes. He couldn't remember when was the last time they held each other. How ridiculously horrible was that?

"I..." Lily mumbled incomprehensibly into his robe, "I thought you would die, I didn't believe James when he said you would come home..." She looked up into his emerald eyes, identical to her own, and sobbed quietly, "Please, Harry, you don't have to do this for me. I'm not worthy of such a sacrifice!" Her hands grabbed on his clothes, fisting into them, as if she was afraid to let him go. "They would either kill you or taint you further, they will turn you into one of their own... Don't, please, this is not what we have been fighting for!"

Harry only sighed and pressed his lips against her cold, sweated forehead, frowning at the notion that his mother thought him to be tainted. What else was she thinking of him? "Forgive me, mom. But it is too late to turn back. I can't leave."

"You seem to actually like it there, pup." He hadn't heard Sirius appear in the room and turned his head to look at his godfather, who stood next to James with his arms crossed over his chest. "Look at you, all pampered up like a prince. Malfoy has never spent so much money on his assistant's outfits. You really got to him, didn't you?" Sirius smiled broadly, though his grey eyes remained unusually cold and hard.

"Harry, I hate to take you away after you have just arrived, but we need you to tell the Resistance everything you know, you have been silent for far too long and we really need something," his father rubbed on Harry's shoulder, looking at him apologetically.

There was no escaping it, he knew. "Fine. Let's get on with it then." With a last longing look at his mother, who seemed to have drawn back into her shell again, Harry took James and Sirius by their arms and let them apparate him to an unknown location.

It was some dusty old wine cellar somewhere in London, as he concluded by the sound of the underground somewhere on his left. Low lamps threw little light on the surroundings and he could barely make out dark silhouettes of the many wizards and witches standing and sitting next to the black barrels and boxes. There were much more people than the last time and Harry rubbed his sweated hands on his silk green shirt, breathing deeply as his blood pressure increased and made him sway on his feet. Sirius' strong hand pushed on his shoulder and helped him sit down onto the nearest iron chair that felt particularly hard and cold after Malfoy's puffy, comfortable armchairs.

"Long time no see, Harry," Ron greeted him from the other side of the table Harry was seated at. "I have been asking after you at the Ministry - you never seem to be there. Just what the hell are you doing at this job of yours?"

He sounded livid and Harry wished he could punch him in the face but felt too weak to even raise his eyes and glare at his once best friend. No, there could be no warm feelings between them anymore. Without Hermione here and with Harry being on the other side there was nothing for them to hold on to. Everything about Ron irritated him now.

"I actually work. A lot." He rubbed on his face tiredly and leaned his elbows on the wooden surface, watching its pattern that reminded him of his life so much - crooked and scarred, unbalanced.

"Why haven't you contacted any of us for so long, all that James got from you were two letters to home and nothing else? We even checked them for hidden messages but they came out clean." Sirius sat down beside him and stared at him with this disappointed, accusing glare of his, that made him look so childish and idiotic, that Harry had to cover his mouth to not let a nervous smile show on his face.

"Because I have a problem."

"What problem?" James stepped closer, watching him worriedly. Harry couldn't see others' faces hidden in the shadows of the cellar. The irony made him smile anyway, but this time he decided there was no point in hiding it.

"Legilimency. Nobody has warned me that Snape is a master of Legilimency."

James swore loudly and hid his face in his hands in surrender and desperation, while Sirius gave Harry a dumb look. "So, even if he is, what does it have to do with you? He is the headmaster of the school, he doesn't have time to socialize with you."

"He does and he is out to get me because he hates my guts. Because somebody," he looked at his godfather pointedly, "Made his life at Hogwarts a burning Hell and now he desires vengeance! Malfoy, of all people, warned me about this, not you!"

"Why would Malfoy warn you of anything?" Somebody barked from behind and Harry briefly thought it must have been Moody.

"Because he has saved me from Snape once already and he told me to watch my back, because even he can't protect me from the old bat! This is the problem! How can I come here, when all he has to do is to get into my head and see you all, find out everything?" At these words the whole crowd came to life suddenly, whispering feverishly between themselves and somebody hastily turned off the lights, leaving only one lamp to burn above Harry's head. "Yeah, that's right, this would no doubt help," he sneered sarcastically and looked away, barely hiding his rage. How unorganized and naive they were! No wonder the Dark Lord had won!

"How are you going to... Do you have any idea what to do?" James stared at him helplessly, dropping his body onto the nearest chair. Harry had never seen his father looking so pale and scared before. "The border is closed and we don't have the resources to help you cross it now, it demands a lot of powerful wizards and artifacts to breach the wards they have put up and it is a suicidal mission anyway..." he trailed off, horrified, staring unseeingly into the darkness around his son, as if dementors were already stretching their long, clawed hands towards Harry.

"I am studying Occlumency," he gritted through his teeth, reluctant to tell them his secret, but feeling there was no other way out of this mess.

"You," Sirius confirmed, looking at him in surprise and disbelief. "You are learning Occlumency? Just like that? None of us could master it and you are simply studying it right under Malfoy's long nose?"

Harry shrugged his shoulders, "Do I have any other alternatives?"

"But only very powerful warlocks like Dumbledore and the Dark Lord could master it. And Snape," Ron leaned closer, moving into the light and looking at Harry with wide, pale blue eyes. "You may study it all you want, you won't get it! It's so complicated!"

Harry looked down at his hands, that were folded in his lap, feeling uncomfortable and so tired. What, was he going to tell them about the mysterious journal that helped him to not only reach for his core and consciousness but already start building walls in just a week? That he hadn't been sleeping during the nights, but smoking the special weed the author had added into the list of the drugs that could help him delve even further into his own mind? That as Malfoy's assistant he could easily come to the Knockturn Alley's apothecary and buy this illegal drug without any problem? No, of course he wasn't going to share all this with them, it was enough they knew he was trying.

"Is it... Is it really working?" His father breathed out, staring at him in wonder and astonishment, having have guessed by Harry's posture what was on his mind. "Are you really making progress?"

"Perhaps," he shrugged his shoulders again, avoiding to meet anybody's gaze.

"That's my boy!" Sirius patted him on the shoulder proudly, smiling sincerely now, with the warm admiration in his eyes.

Harry noted absentmindedly that they were very much like Lucius', just as grey and looked just as kindly... Too kindly, he had realized it now. Appreciatively. He wasn't a child anymore and Sirius' look wasn't as playful and condescending as it used to be - it was accessing. Was Black too finding him handsome? Harry swallowed harshly and ducked his head, wishing the earth could swallow him up.

"Now all we have to do is to find a way for you to pass the information on to us! With your progressing in Occlumency there soon would be no danger for you at all!" his godfather exclaimed, turning to look at everyone, who seemed to hold their breaths.

"I can't send you the names of the prosecuted wizards," Harry shook his head, imperceptibly moving his chair a little to the side, away from Sirius.

It was one thing to bear with the sly, lustful looks of Lucius Malfoy, who, Harry had to admit, was a truly attractive man, whose attention wasn't all that unpleasant to him, if he was honest with himself, while it was a completely different thing altogether to be lusted after by his own godfather, who was his family. The mere thought made his stomach churn.

"Why?" Ron raised his eyebrows, looking at him dumbly.

"He is constantly testing me, that's why," he couldn't help but sneer. "He is checking every man whose name gets into my hands, he is watching me when I write the orders for execution or torture, he is asking me if I know them or how I feel about them being imprisoned. He reads all the letters I exchange, he is very careful with everything I get to touch and read, there is no way I am telling you any of the names. It will be the end of me and my family the very instant he sees something."

"What, even if your father was on the list, you would still keep silent?" Moody barked out of the darkness again and his question made Harry glare at the black shadows around him defiantly, angrily.

"I wonder what would have any of you done, were you in my place? I don't know what would I do if I see dad's name there, I can't say, I pray I would never see it there... Don't you understand?!" he slammed his fist against the table suddenly in a bout of rage, making everybody jerk and gasp in surprise and fear, for the air around him started to vibrate slightly. "Don't you understand that I am writing death certificates for you every day? I can't save everyone! I have sent to prison half of my year at Hogwarts, I have signed an order to torture somebody's mother for Malfoy because he was too lazy to do it on his own, I don't fucking know what would I do when I see Potter or Black or Weasley on the list?! Perhpas, I would do nothing! I can't bear the mere thought that I have to bury people I know almost every day..." Harry dropped his head on his hands, shaking in anger, curling his fingers tightly into fists, feeling the blood run under his fingernails. "You have sent me to Hell, you have sent me to the very Death's door, do not expect me to play a hero for you and give up my life so easily, so carelessly." He straightened up sharply and looked at his father gravely, suddenly void of any compassion towards the man. "I am doing this for my mother, who has so stupidly thrown her life away for my sake. I am paying her back in any way I can."

He wanted to stand up and leave, but Sirius stopped him by holding him on his upper arm. "Harry, we all understand what kind of a sacrifice you had to make, and we all appreciate it. Please, don't. Don't do this to us and to yourself now. We need you there, you can still help. Can you give us the information about the recruiting and military bases?"

Nodding his head Harry slumped back in his chair and took out his wand to transfigure an old handkerchief into a piece of parchment. "I don't know how can I help, when I live with Malfoy who is Voldemort's right hand and who would no doubt execute me the second I open my mouth," he muttered, as he quickly scribbled down all the information that he had collected and put safely away in his mind.

The wonderful, mysterious journal helped not only to reach for his core and start learning Occlumency but to also change his way of thinking, just like the author had described it. He was storing the information differently, accessing it very much like the books in the library, having an alphabetical order in his head, while keeping his mind clear almost all the time. He was able to remember more and faster, better. His magic had changed as well, he could now feel it surging through his veins along with his blood. He become more powerful, he could wield the force that had been dormant inside him more freely now. The drugs that he took had worked so well, he couldn't believe it all was so easy. It was to him, though, while his mysterious, unknown tutor had had to spend months to actually learn Occlumency and years to develop it and master it in its full extension.

"Do not lie to yourself, Harry," Sirius said softly, gaining his attention once again, as James passed the parchment around the group. "I know how strongly you affect Malfoy, how differently he acts towards you - you can influence him. He likes you and I'm sure he is going to recruit you later, he sees your potential and wants to use you. Let him, in exchange for some privileges, indulgences if you want."

"If we had the boy in their ranks this could be very beneficial to us, he could help inculcate more moles in the future, could pass on the information more freely, since all of them Death Eaters would be under suspicion," Moody rumbled, as he finally limped to stand in the dim light of a lonely lamp and focused his magical eye on Harry's form. "But he doesn't look very enthusiastic to help us," he noted acidly, smacking his twisted, cut lips.

"You want me to serve the Dark Lord now," Harry laughed bitterly, looking at his father with an odd resignation in his heart. He should have foreseen this.

James rubbed on his face in devastation, giving his son a pleading look, full of regret and hurt, but his voice never betrayed his true emotions. "You said yourself there is no going back. There isn't, not for our family anyway," he said hoarsely but firmly and folded his hands on the table before himself, twisting his fingers harshly, making the knuckles turn white under the tension.

"I can always reject his offer. I am a light wizard, they have little use for me in their ranks."

Serving the Dark Lord, bearing the Dark Mark and all for the sake of his mother, who would grow old and white in the head when and if the Resistance achieves anything. It would have been so much easier if he could just send her abroad, but as a muggleborn she was prohibited to even look at the border, let alone trespass it. Hermione was the last one who managed to cross before the new wards were put up. They all were surrounded, living in a cage like animals. Though those who were graced with better blood and who did not oppose the Dark regime lived very well and traveled around the world all they wanted... Once again Harry was asking himself if he would have ever agreed to this were his mother at least a half-blood? Most certainly not, for he would have lived a much better life then.

"This is your decision, we are not going to force you, since it is your life and your body that would be marked and bound to the will of another man," James said quietly, not looking at Harry. "But please consider this. You have gone so far already..."

"I am already a slave but at least to a man who cares for my well being and even protects me," Harry twisted his lips in an unkind smile, thinking that Lucius was indeed a very good employer, a good person even. A murderer, a dirty politician, but a father as well, a husband, a mentor, a friend... How far had he really gone in this if he felt more comfortable around Malfoy, than around his own father? "I have no wish to enslave myself to a megalomaniac psychopath, who takes pleasure in torturing and killing others for his own entertainment."

"What, doesn't Malfoy enjoy it?" Ron scoffed, rolling his eyes and shaking his head in a mocking, condescending fashion.

"No, he doesn't. He never kills, never tortures unless he is ordered to. He hates it, I often hear him complaining about the unnecessary cruelty and senseless violence." Lucius didn't look particularly happy with his job as a whole, but he wasn't going to tell them that. It was Lucius' business, not theirs, and had nothing to do with their mission.

"Maybe he's showering you with flowers and stuffs vanilla marshmallows into the Dark Lord's mouth?" Ron just couldn't let go.

Harry fought the desire to say yes, but simply sighed in exasperation and stood up. "I see no point in continuing this conversation any longer. I have written down everything I can give away without drawing suspicions to myself. I will be leaving parchments like that in Auror's office at dad's or Sirius' desks. Don't bring me to your meetings anymore, I am studying Occlumency but I haven't mastered it yet and I have no idea how much time would it take." He turned to leave when his father's hand circled his wrist and he felt the nauseating pull of apparition.

Harry snatched his hand out of James’ hold as soon as they landed on a carpet of their old, dusty living room, and pointedly threw himself on the tattered couch, lying down and staring irritably at the cracks on the yellowish ceiling. He was seething inside and his magic felt wild and untamed inside him, ready to burst.

“You’ve changed.” He heard James murmur. His father stood awkwardly in the middle of the room not really knowing what to do with himself. At last he sat down in his armchair, looking at Harry uncertainly.

“What did you expect? That I would stay the same old Harry, the naïve and the weak, the kindhearted Harry? Well, you were mistaken.”

“I do worry about you, you know,” James frowned, “It doesn’t have to be like this between us…”

“And yet you want me to serve the Dark Lord,” Harry craned his neck at an uncomfortable angle to look at the man. “Don’t you find it a little bit hypocritical?”  
“Harry, if only I could take your place…”

“Yes, yes, I know, well you can’t, dad. And that’s it. Let’s not talk about it anymore, please?”

There went his weekend with his parents, that he had been longing for for so long. With bitter sadness and little guilt Harry thought that he wished to return to the Malfoy Manor already. Staying here promised nothing good.

“I’m sorry, son. I truly am,” James said in a small voice, rubbing on his tired face with his both hands. “Don’t tell Lily about this, not yet, alright?”

“Fine.”

xxx

It was very much like Narcissa to start a fight over nothing. Sighing tiredly Lucius kept nodding his head in agreement to her loud complaints - when she wanted to she could be rather vocal on the matter and sounded more like a banshee than a respectable lady of the prominent and ancient family. Why was it his problem now that her mother lost her money, which she had so carelessly invested into an unauthorized business? Why was he supposed to compensate? Massaging his temples and feeling the migraine slowly building up in his head he lowered himself into an armchair and stared at his wife helplessly, inwardly begging her to shut up and never speak again.

"Master Malfoy, guest in hall for you," Dobby suddenly chirped in, peeking fearfully from behind the slightly opened door into their room.

"Find Harry - he will deal with it. And see the guest to the tea parlour," Lucius drawled, waving his hand weakly, exhausted and secretly grateful for an unexpected visitor, however, he knew he had to let Narcissa finish her tirade, to let her pour all her shit out, otherwise he would never hear the end of it. "I will be down in ten minutes."

Quickly jumping over two steps at a time on his way down the stairs to see to the visitor Harry suddenly realized that he was excited to meet another Death Eater, since he hadn't had yet seen any of Malfoy's brothers in arms, only ministry colleagues. What if it would be the mysterious author of the journal? It was his wishful thinking, of course, but nothing was impossible in their world. However, if it was Snape then Harry was in trouble. Hiding his trembling hands behind his back and swallowing harshly he hesitantly entered the parlour, trying very hard not to show his fright and agitation. A tall, thin figure draped in a heavy black cloak stood at the window, impatiently tapping a foot on the wooden floor. The stranger's head was hidden behind a deep hood, however, Harry was certain it was a man, judging by his great hight and broad shoulders.

"Sir?" He coughed softly and stepped into the room. It was definitely not Snape, which was promising.

"Who are you?" the visitor hissed and turned around sharply, glaring at Harry with his black, cold eyes, that seemed to be even darker than the old bat's, darker than the night itself, darker than the black shadow of the hood that covered his face.

Cringing slightly at the harsh sounds, that reminded him of a rattling snake, Harry bowed lowly. "Harry Potter, sir, Mr Malfoy's personal assistant. He is busy at the moment and it is my duty to welcome you and make you as much comfortable as possible. He will be with you in ten minutes..."

"He dared to send an assistant?"

The mysterious stranger suddenly appeared standing right in front of him, towering over Harry with his mighty height, and bent down a little to look into his face. Barely holding back a cry of horror that was threatening to escape his lips, Harry stared, breathless and frozen, into the scariest, ugliest face he had ever seen in his life. It was deformed and mutilated, scarred so horribly he felt sick to the stomach. As a torn cloth the pieces of unhealthily white skin hang down on the high cheekbones, showing the bone through. Instead of a nose there were only slits of nostrils now. In the left cheek gaped a big, burnt maw - Harry could see the white, sharp teeth, gleaming inside it.

"Like what you see, boy?" the ugly man gritted hoarsely through his tightly pursed, cracked and blooded, thin lips. However, his dangerous attitude was somewhat smudged when he suddenly started swaying on his feet and his black eyes rolled back into the deep sockets - Harry barely managed to catch him in time and place his horribly thin, weightless body into the nearest armchair.

Forgetting about the disgust and terror, that he had just experienced from an unpleasant encounter, he hurried to pour a glass of water from a jar on the table and confidently reached out to hold the man's head to help him drink. But a bony, clawed hand stopped him, grabbing on his wrist and squeezing it rather painfully.

"Drink some water, sir," Harry mumbled, wincing at the hurting, but stubbornly holding up the glass before the creature - he could hardly call him a man after all. "Please, drink, you will feel better." He had never seen so much distrust and disdain in the other's eyes, even Snape's gaze wasn't that frightening and unbearable, but Harry couldn't for the life of him avert his eyes - he knew it would be impolite, more so, it would show how much disgusted he was with the display.

A weak, veined hand snatched the glass out of his hand and the strange creature gulped the water down, hurrying to drink it all, as if he was a traveler lost in the desert who was blessed by the gods to find a small puddle of life saving liquid. His lips quivered slightly and a long, surprisingly, forked tongue flickered between them to lick on the dry flesh. All the while the black eyes watched Harry intently, daring him to say or do something inappropriate.

"Do you feel better, sir?" Harry kneeled in front of him, just like his mother used to do when he was angry with her, thinking that it might help lessen the tension that was electrifying the air around them - he had never dealt with such hostility before. It seemed the wizard, and he, no doubt, was a very powerful one, was so afraid of being hurt, that his fear had transformed into a thick shield and a sharp, lethal weapon - like a trapped beast he watched Harry, ready to jump at his throat and tear him to pieces. "Should I call for a doctor?"

"No." The black eyes narrowed suspiciously, calculatingly.

"Alright." He tried to behave as unaffected as it was possible in such a company. He kept looking at the man, as if he was Malfoy, whose perfect, beautiful face Harry knew by heart, to its very last detail, he kept looking, not staring, and kept smiling slightly, almost imperceptibly. "May I check your pulse, sir?" he offered and very slowly moved his hand towards the clawed one, that was resting in the man's lap - its fingers jerked and curled protectively, but the wizard said nothing and Harry gently placed his palm on a very cold, though oddly soft skin of the other's wrist. He could barely feel the faint pulsing of the thin, dark vein. "It is very weak, sir, you'd better lie down," Harry looked up into the cold, hard eyes, feeling the shiver run down his spine under their heavy, piercing stare.

"Are you not repulsed by my appearance?" the creature suddenly asked in that rasp, hissing voice of his. Perhaps, it was only his imagination, but Harry thought that the wizard looked surprised, as much as his facial muscles could form such an expression.

There was no point in lying, he knew pity wouldn't be appreciated. "A little."

"A little?" the man wheezed mirthfully. "How nobly sincere of you, how very typical for a Potter..." he drawled, though his wrist was still in Harry's hold and he didn't try to move away. "Tell me, what is a Potter doing in the house of one of the darkest wizards in England?" A spark of interest could be seen in the black eyes, which were reddened Harry noticed and had a strange blood like hue to their orbs.

"I work as Mr Malfoy's personal assistant. I don't really mind working for a dark wizard... May I ask if you knew any other Potters in the past?" he asked uncertainly, though very curious to hear the answer. It was impossible to tell the stranger's age, but he must have been at least around forty, like Lucius was.

"I did," the creature said quietly, leaning slightly forward to have a better look at Harry's face. "Can't say you have inherited any of their distinguishing features. I wonder if you have inherited any other... useful traits of theirs," he drawled and his lips twisted in a repugnant smile, that only worsened the gash on his face. "They were unreliable and dull-witted, the lot of them."

"Oh," Harry sighed and carefully let go of the creature's wrist, dropping his hands down on his own knees. It was obvious the wizard didn't like his relatives, whom Harry never knew, since they all died during the magical wars, and there was no point asking him about them - he was definitely not going to tell him stories of his youth. "Sir, may I... I do not mean to pry or... Have you gotten into a magical accident?"

Somehow Harry felt extremely awkward and uncomfortable asking the man about his horrible injures, but as the first impression of repulsiveness subsided, he found he felt sorry for the poor wizard. He wished he could help him, could lessen his sufferings.

The stranger leaned even closer, searching Harry's face, as if he was expecting a biting, hurtful remark or a joke to be thrown at him any second. As the creature bent his head to look at him, a few strands of long, black, wavy hair fell onto Harry's cheek, tickling on his skin - the hair was so soft and shiny, it was hard to believe it hadn't been damaged along with the man's body.

"Don't you know who I am?" he asked and suddenly a cold hand cupped Harry's face, the long, clawed fingers marveling his skin, mapping its every inch, as if trying to absorb his warmth.

"No, sir," Harry breathed out, frightened.

"How amusing," the man stretched his mouth in an ugly parody of a grin. "Yes, it was an accident, a magical experiment that has gone wrong," he murmured, caressing Harry's jaw and lips, as a sculptor appreciating his work of art.

Perplexed, embarrassed, Harry could only stare helplessly into the black-bloody eyes and breathe as slowly and imperceptibly as he could - the touch of the creature was cold, but not unpleasant and that was what confused him the most. The sudden gentleness of the scary wizard made Harry sympathize with him even more.

"Ha-a-ar-ry Pot-ter," the man drawled, seemingly rolling the words on his forked tongue, tasting them in his mouth, "How truly amusing... You may call me Mr Riddle, Harry."

"I am very sorry for what has happened to you, Mr Riddle..."

Harry gasped, as another cold, clawed hand touched his hair and stroked it, carding the long fingers deeply through the thick locks. The sudden desire to close his eyes and nestle in the man's lap and sleep on his shoulder overwhelmed Harry and he dug his fingernails hard into his own thigh to prevent himself from giving in. Nobody had ever touched him in such fashion, nobody but Lily, but even her touch was never as appreciative and pleasant as Riddle's.

"The sorrow is not yours to be felt, child," Riddle hissed, smiling cruelly, but before he could add something else the door into the room opened and pale as death Lucius appeared at the threshold.

"My lo... Mr Potter?" he stared in astonishment at his assistant, who stood on his knees before the most unwanted guest he could ever imagine.

"Sir!" Harry hastily stood up, snapping out of his mesmerized state under the other's soft hands. "Mr Riddle doesn't feel well, he has almost fainted and I offered him some water..."

"Yes, yes, you did well, Mr Potter," Lucius said absentmindedly, coming closer and involuntarily pulling Harry to stand behind him, "I didn't expect Mr... Mr Riddle to come, but since he did we have a very personal matter to discuss. Please, Mr Potter, visit the kitchens and order a dinner for the evening, something... Something light." He barely managed to pull himself together and tried to look at Harry as confidently as it was possible.

"Of course," Harry bowed, watching Lucius in confusion. Was he afraid of Riddle? It looked like Malfoy was readying himself to be killed on the spot and the nervousness of the usually haughty and sarcastic wizard disturbed him greatly. "Get well, Mr Riddle," he smiled at the maimed wizard, who was watching him like a predator watches his prey, like a snake hunting a rabbit - a display Harry always felt sickened by whenever he caught it on one of the nature channels on the telly.

"Goodbye, Harry," the wizard hissed lowly, enjoying the sound of the name leaving his lips.

Gulping in yet another shiver, that ran down his spine, Harry nodded his head awkwardly and practically stormed out of the room, hurrying to get away from the odd new acquaintance of his. He didn't know why, but he thought Riddle wasn't the man's real name but a charade for him, for Harry, to solve. The further he got into the web of the Dark world, the more twisted and strange his life became.

"My lord?!" Lucius instantly fell on his knees as soon as the door closed behind the boy. "Why have you come here? You can't use magic for traveling yet!" He didn't dare to look up, though fumed on the inside - he saw the way the Dark Lord pawed Harry and it galled him. However, he knew there was nothing he could do about it and that galled him even worse.

"Silence!" the Dark Lord barked and fell back into the puffy pillows of the armchair, weak, exhausted and annoyed. "I didn't use my magic. I couldn't even call for you through the Mark... My recovery demands much more resources than I have previously anticipated. An elf brought me here. Now, give me your blood!" he snarled and raised his shaking hand, gesturing for his servant to stand up and do as he was ordered.

"You shouldn't exhaust yourself so much, master," Lucius muttered, as he rose and rolled up the sleeve of his black shirt. "You should have sent an elf for me instead of traveling all the way here. What if you have actually fainted?" He summoned the golden box from his study and took a tourniquet, two needles and a medical tube out of it.

"I see now why you are so averse to my presence in your house, Lucius," the Dark Lord laughed coldly, as he too rolled up the sleeve of his thick robe, uncovering white, marred skin of his bony arm, "With lovely Harry as your assistant you must be very careful around others. He is a tempting trophy."

"Har... Mr Potter has nothing to do with this, my lord, I am worried for your well being," he said firmly and tied the tourniquet around his upper arm, pushed one of the needles into his vein, having have already connected it with the tube, and bent down to push the other one into his master's.

"I will never understand why do you so stubbornly keep trying to fool me, Lucius," Voldemort shook his head in exasperation, taking off his hood and spreading his long, tangled raven hair over his shoulders. "I know you better than you know yourself, I know what you are like when you find yourself a new sex toy. How is the boy in bed? I bet he is most delicious," he drawled mockingly, watching in satisfaction how hard Lucius tried to keep his emotions in check. "How did you find him, anyway? Such a precious gem and a Potter! To think..."

"He found me, my lord, he came to an interview just like a hundred other young men. He was the most adequate and worthy candidate of all," Lucius grumbled, wincing at the pain of his blood being sucked out of him through the tube. "And before you say anything, my lord," he raised his finger at the sight of Voldemort opening the gash of his mouth to, no doubt, add more poison, "I don't know how he is in bed."

"My, but you surprise me, Lucius, such a stamina!" the Dark Lord chuckled, but his laughter soon morphed into a dry, rasp coughing, that made the blond wizard frown and wrinkle his nose at the particular nastiness of its sound. "Potter, of all people... You know very well I don't care whom you fuck as long as it doesn't hurt me or the party. You also know that should another mistake like the last one of yours transpire - I will forget about how valuable you are to me," he hissed venomously and gave Malfoy a warning glare.

"I know, my lord," Lucius bowed his head lowly. "I checked the boy thoroughly. He is clean. Though a half-blood, he bares one of the most powerful and ancient bloods, I couldn't let him slip my fingers... He is already very powerful, he is a talented duelist and a spellcrafter-"

Watching Lucius intently through the narrowed eyes Voldemort interrupted him, raising his bald eyebrows in a mild surprise, "Are you planning to recruit him?"

"I am seriously considering it, my lord. He is too innocent and too kindhearted, I am afraid, however, his talents are most valuable and he has a sharp, bright mind. He will become a great wizard in a few years and it is my wish to see him by your side, for I have no doubts that his father would try and sway him into Resistance sooner or later, or Dumbledore would try to lay his hands on him." The more Lucius spoke, the more agitated and passionate he became, "I found him first, he is ours!"

"The child is light, what makes you think he would follow me?" Voldemort asked mirthfully, entertained by the other's excitement. It had been so long since he saw Lucius so alive and enthusiastic.

"I will take care of that," he smiled at the Dark Lord slyly and pulled the needles out of their veins.

"Bring the boy with you to the next meeting," Voldemort hissed, rubbing his hands together, massaging the numb fingers, helping he fresh blood circulate. "We will see about your progress."

That was it. With a sinking feeling in his gut Lucius bowed in submission, sighing inwardly. When the Dark Lord got interested in somebody it usually ended badly for the object of his curiosity. Cursing his bad luck he decided he had to quicken his pace with Harry, there wasn't much time left for them to enjoy what he had planned - his master was slowly but steadily recovering and it was only a matter of months before he became strong and healthy once again. The Dark Lord wasn't going to take harry in his bed, but he was surely going to play mind games with him, and that was going to end in tears and blood, as it always did. Harry was one of the few people Lucius really didn't want to see dead.


	4. A summer breeze.

_"The best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them." Ernest Hemingway_

The soft scratching of a quill against a parchment grated on his nerves, unbearably so. Squeezing his eyes in exhaustion and ire Harry heaved a long sigh, pushed his head back and slumped against the armchair, staring dumbly at the cracked ceiling above him. How he hated hours and hours of reporting useless rubbish that he highly doubted anybody was ever going to read, however, and he knew for certain, complaining wasn't an option. If Malfoy gave him such a horribly mundane task then he had his reasons for it.

"Tired, Mr Potter?"

He jerked at the quiet words that rang loudly in the oppressing silence of the office. Harry had completely forgotten that his boss was present, had been for the past two hours, maybe three...

"Sorry, sir," he mumbled, gathering his wits and hurrying to straighten his back and posture. He knew how much the older wizard disliked when he or Draco hunched their shoulders.

"You should take a break, no point in killing yourself over this," Lucius smiled at the young man, who looked like he hadn't been sleeping for weeks.

They did have a lot of work to do and Harry was indeed busy doing everything that was asked of him and more, and Lucius knew very well that the boy was finding time and strength to study Transfiguration, Defense and Spell and Curse Craft even further, if the empty places on the shelves in his library were anything to judge by... And yet his exhaustion seemed to be of not only physical, but of psychological kind as well. Was he still finding it hard to live apart from his family? Or were there any problems he hadn't been aware of? Lucius could have sworn that Harry came back a different person from Godric's Hollow, as if in just a day and a half he had gone through a life changing experience. He didn't like it, he hated not knowing, especially when it came to this boy.

"Something is certainly bothering you, Mr Potter. Care to share and dispel my worries?"

Stealing a tentative glance at the warmly smiling man, who looked so sympathetic, so kind and whose eyes were all but welcoming him to pour all of his concerns out, Harry bit on his lower lip in uncertainty. Of course he could never tell Malfoy of his hard struggle with Occlumency, in which he was progressing very slowly now, nor could he tell him of the Resistance and his father's wish to make him a Death Eater - almost a week had passed since he visited his parents and he was still astonished and disappointed, hurt by everything he had learned.

"I simply don't get enough sleep, sir, it's fine," Harry said quietly, putting his quill away and blowing on the parchment to brush off the tiny crumbles of the feather.

"Can't say I agree with you, it is not fine - the way I see it." Lucius raised one of his eyebrows, concerned, trying in vain to decipher what was the other wizard going through. Denial and reluctance to share one's troubles was quite typical for such a young age, yet he couldn't stand the sight of a frowning, obviously disheartened Harry. "Mr Potter," he sighed and closed the file he had been reading all this time, "Come closer, sit here and talk to me." He gestured at the chair on the other side of his desk, though at first he thought to put Harry next to him, as close as it was possible - but that would have been intruding into his personal space and Lucius wished to make the shy boy talk, not hide in his shell even more.

Creasing his brow in confusion and hesitancy Harry closed the bureau and walked over to the offered chair, trying to understand why did Malfoy care at all. And the man cared for him a lot, he couldn't dismiss the obvious. A porcelain cup of sweet, fruit tea was pushed towards him on an elegant saucer by almost equally porcelain, weak hand of the dark wizard. Harry often found himself admiring these hands - their grace and beauty fascinated him, like everything else about Malfoy. He had realized it only now, with a foreign, unexpected satisfaction, that he liked the man more and more, enjoyed his personality like he had never enjoyed anybody else. If only he could call him a friend instead of a boss, worse, an enemy... It seemed such a ridiculous notion now, that a man like Lucius Malfoy could be his enemy, could pose any kind of a danger to him.

"I have noticed that you came back in rather low spirits, Mr Potter," Lucius drawled, stirring his tea with a small golden spoon and watching Harry carefully from underneath his lowered eyelashes. "What might be the source of your misery, I wonder. One would expect you to come happy and blooming after spending some time with your so dearly loved parents." He took a small sip and raised his eyebrows expectantly at the young man, who kept staring into his own drink, as if it held the answers to rhetoric questions.

Looking up and meeting the encouraging gaze of the pale grey eyes Harry sighed and shook his head. "My visit hasn't gone as well as I expected it to, sir." He really couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that Malfoy was interested in listening to his whining, yet he felt compelled to open up to him, to find out what did he have to say to this.

"Oh, this is rather disconcerting," Lucius put on a pitying look, watching his assistant warmly. He loathed being a shoulder to cry on, but he wanted to get closer to Harry, to know him better and in order to do that he had to make some sacrifices. "Would I be right to assume that they are not very happy with your current position?"

"Yes." It felt so good to be understood and not be judged. "I can't say it used to be better between us before, but now it is indeed upsetting. Unsettling even." Harry gulped down his tea to push the lump in his throat back to wherever it came from and put an empty cup onto the saucer - it was instantly filled again.

"It is quite understandable, your parents never were of a high opinion of the Dark Lord," Lucius nodded his head, thinking back on the days of the war and the countless times he had to duel Potters in the field. They both were good fighters, he had no doubts Harry had inherited it from them, but they also lacked any kind of creativity, relying on the brute force only - that was why they could never win against the Death Eaters. Their son was so different, it was only the name that tied them all together it seemed. "Besides, any parent would be wary of his child working in the office of the Senior Undersecretary, serving the dark wizards... I myself, as a father, am very disappointed and displeased with Draco's behavior, but that doesn't mean I don't love him anymore. Do not dwell on this, Mr Potter - they will come around, eventually." He offered Harry a small but sincere smile and sighed pleasantly, when a slight blush of gratefulness covered the young man's cheeks and the red lips stretched in a kind smile in reply. This was how his lovely assistant was supposed to look like all the time.

"I hope you are right, sir," Harry lifted his shoulders, as his fingers kept caressing the fragile china on the desk before him. It was indeed pleasant to have somebody to listen to you and to assure you it was going to be fine, even if it wasn't really. "Thank you."

"Nothing to thank me for just yet," he chuckled into his cup, enjoying the sensation of their auras coming in harmony together.

Powerful wizards rarely could survive each other for long periods of time, for their magical forces were constantly coming in mutual confrontation even if they liked each other as individuals. However, everything was different with Harry - it felt as if the boy was able to tune himself to match Lucius perfectly. Perhaps, this was the reason everybody liked young Potter or never noticed him, when he wished so, even if he stood right in front of them - his ability to adjust to any kind of environment was truly impressive. An image of Harry standing on his knees before the Dark Lord came to his mind and Lucius once again shivered in both fear and anger, for he still couldn't grasp the idea that the young wizard could get his master to touch him.

Voldemort never let anybody lay a finger on him, except for Lucius and Severus, he never let anybody get closer than a few feet, but he let Harry hold him and looked obviously impressed with the boy... What was it that his lord felt through their touch? Jealous, Lucius pursed his lips and glared at the already cold tea - it started boiling feverishly, making his cup clatter against the saucer.

"The problem of a child going against his parents' wishes is as old as the world," he drawled, trying to cover up the display of his irritation, "Nothing new under the sun, really. You should have seen me at your age, you should have heard how my father used to scream at me," he laughed mirthfully at the bitter memories. Since the man was dead he could laugh freely, for now his past was only his memories and nothing more.

"I can't imagine you were like Draco, sir," Harry couldn't help but chuckle too, "And there is hardly any other reason to scream at a person, isn't there?"

"Yes, yes, indeed," Lucius shook his head in yet another bout of laughter. "However, my father had his reasons, even though I was nothing like my dear son. This very cane," he gestured at the black polished wood crowned with the silver head of a snake, "Used to be brought against my back many, many times when I opposed him."

Harry suddenly stopped laughing and the corners of his mouth fell. "Were you... Were you beaten, sir? By your own father?" He stared at Malfoy as if he was seeing him for the first time in his life.

"Yes, of course, we all were," Lucius shrugged his shoulders elegantly, carelessly. "It was an old tradition of the pureblood families. Even your father was beaten by Charlus Potter, I can assure you, I saw the markings and bruises on his body when we went to Hogwarts. We all were bruised and scarred then... Cancelation of the corporal punishment for children was one of the first legislations the Dark Lord had introduced to the renewed government of the Magical Britain."

Harry widened his eyes in astonishment, "I never knew that." Did the Dark Lord really care for children? But he was told the warlock was insane and merciless and cruel, that he killed and tortured children, not cared for their well being. And his father had never once told him about being beaten and punished... Harry himself never once got even a slap on the backside.

"Of course you didn't," he smiled sympathetically, "After the bill passed nobody has ever raised a hand on their children. I never abused Draco before that anyway, for I always saw such methods as rather primitive and inefficient. However hard my father hit me, I never agreed to become a Death Eater."

"What?!" Harry felt his jaw hang down in shock. "But, but..."

Lucius threw his head back, laughing heartedly at the ridiculous display. Harry was indescribably funny sometimes.

"Mr Potter, your naiveté is most adorable. Did you really believe that all of us dark wizards admired the Dark Lord's methods, that we all a priori agreed with him simply because he promised to restore the powers of the Dark? Most of us young students, who had barely finished the school, were forced into his servitude by our parents. I myself never wished to be marked, couldn't stand the thought that another man would keep me on a short leash and would use me in whatever fashion he finds most amusing." He held his hand on his side, chuckling soundlessly and watching Harry with bold humor. How he enjoyed their conversations, how he loved this sincerity and openness and easiness he could have never afforded before. "My opinion changed after I met the Dark Lord personally. Father must have complained to his master about his stubborn scion and the great warlock came to visit me one evening not long before Christmas. After I got to know him I have changed as a person, I desired to be by his side, to serve him."

Seeing the far away look that Lucius' face had obtained, Harry couldn't help but wonder, "Did he force you? Used a compulsion spell or threatened you? Promised you something you desired the most?" There were so many different possibilities that a powerful wizard like Voldemort could use, it was easy to imagine just why there were so many followers under his command.

"No, Mr Potter, these were the methods my father used, not my master," Lucius snapped out of his reverie, shaking off the haze of the memory of a most beautiful, enthralling, darkest, but most sexual being smiling at him and asking him in that kind but dominating voice to join the party and to share his talents and gifts with the people, the country, with the Dark Lord... "I agreed willingly. The Dark Lord is nothing like people paint him, although it is the exact image of himself he had been working very hard to create. He doesn't wish to be loved and praised by everyone - he has us, his faithful followers, to give him that. It is important for my master to be able to stay himself and save his individuality, stay unaffected and sober, in order to rule our people wisely." He smiled somewhat ruefully at the notion of how miserable Voldemort was now. "Fame and money, popularity and other's admiration is something I can use to my and his benefit and something he isn't interested in at all."

Harry wanted to believe it all to be a pretty lie for the ears of young, inexperienced wizards like he himself was, a prepared speech for the future recruits, but he felt deep in his heart that Malfoy was honest. His intuition was telling him that what he had just heard wasn't a common knowledge - far from it.

"Would you force Draco to take the mark, sir?" He didn't know why, he hadn't even been thinking about it, but the question slipped his tongue.

"No." His lovely Harry was once again asking just the right kind of questions. How wonderful the young wizard was, Lucius all but purred in satisfaction. All that was left for him to do now was to find a way to touch Harry and make him want to be touched. They were already closer then an employer and an employee. "As much as I hate to admit this Draco is incapable of a loyal and efficient servitude to the Dark. He is talented in many fields of magic, but he is simply not interested in developing his skill and knowledge any further, like you do, Mr Potter. Draco is careless and self-centered, he doesn't value what he had been given - such attitude is lethal in a company of the party, of the Dark Lord himself. My only hope is that Miss Greengrass, Astoria, his betrothed, would grace our family with one or two grandchildren in the future, whom I will be able to raise more suited for the role of a Death Eater," he smiled to himself, mildly surprised that he told this to his assistant, when he had never even spoke of this to Narcissa, let alone Draco.

"You are so kind to him, sir," Harry breathed out in unexpected admiration.

One would have thought that Voldemort's right hand would force his son to take the Mark practically at birth, and would do anything in his power to make Draco climb the ladder to the success twice faster than it was possible. And yet Malfoy had once again surprised him. He was a father, a man, a human being first of all - his political image, his Death Eater identity seemed so small and insignificant now in comparison with his bright and, there was no denying it, generous personality.

"Love makes us do most unexpected things, don't you think, Mr Potter?" Lucius winked at him, suddenly thinking that he would have done so much for Harry, if only he knew what exactly could help him to deserve the boy's trust and affection. "I love my son, I wish only what is best for him. My master understands my motives, that is why Draco is still unmarked and will never be."

Harry lowered his gaze, marveling how different, how unexpectedly fair this side of their world turned out to be. He had grown up with an understanding that all the dark wizards were cunning, malicious, mercantile people, who wore masks of social indifference. But Malfoy proved to be a complete opposite of the stereotype and Harry once again acknowledged the fact that he felt much more comfortable in his company, rather than in James'. Shamefully he thought that if only his father had loved him as much as this man loved Draco, nothing of this would have happened.

"If your father loved you as much as you wished he did, you wouldn't have been forced to live in poverty," Lucius sighed, knowing very well what was on the boy's mind. He himself had an abundant experience of being the unloved, neglected, even abused child in a family that was supposed to be anything but what it actually was. "He would have either taken you and your mother abroad during the war, to secure your lives and his money or what was left of it, or he would have come to us and taken the Mark. The way he chose to lead his life is a disgrace for a Potter, for one of the most ancient pureblood families, but I am certain you will never follow in his footsteps." He waited for Harry to look up at him and tried to ignore the hurt he could see in the brilliant emerald eyes, wet with unshed tears - he knew the truth he spoke was harsh, but the young wizard was stronger and more intelligent than many, there was no point in making up sweet lies, it would have been outright disrespectful towards him. "Mr Potter, you are young, bright, gifted with talents and skills beyond the possible limits, you are capable of coming out of the stalling, rotten environment you have been living in for your whole life... I do find it rather amusing that if it wasn't for the multifarious education you have received at Hogwarts I doubt you would have ever come here, don't you agree?"

"Yes," Harry creased his brow, "Hogwarts gave me a whole new life, a new mentality, I have learned about the Light and the Dark and of magic so much, I would have never known any of it were I to stay at home and be tutored by my parents."

"Exactly. It was rather perplexing to not see you in the primary school that the Dark Lord had founded almost as soon as we won. All the pureblood children attended along with muggleborns and half-bloods," Lucius gave him a concerned look.

Unlike Hogwarts, whose magical books were too ancient to be messed with and therefore the rules of acceptance could not be changed, the primary and secondary schools that they have established later were able to take any children and give them a much better, diverse education, even if their parents couldn't afford it. It had been a horrible experience to put Draco in one class with mostly muggleborns and Lucius expected James Potter to bring his son in, he expected that Draco would at least find some kind of a friend in him, since it was completely inappropriate to have anything in common with the impure...

But Potters never came. Severus was livid, he still remembered how particularly acid his friend had been towards everybody and more than once the Dark Lord had to curse him to put him in his place. Poor potions master had hoped to, no doubt, meet his beloved again, maybe even try and find a way to bring her back, influence her child, but she fooled him. Again... They all were forced to place their heirs in that school, but in the end the result of that experiment was just as brilliant as was their lord. Many still refused to educate their children in the 'dark schools', that were opened all over the country in the following years, but nevertheless more and more intelligent, adequate wizards and witches were graduating them and taking positions at the Ministry and governing establishments - their progress was inconceivable and many of the foreign Ministries were watching Magical Britain closely, considering to either copy after it or even ask the Dark Lord himself to help them as well.

"Mother was against it," Harry muttered with a slight frown on his face, for he still couldn't understand her reasons behind this decision. "And father... Well, he never was enthusiastic about putting me there either."

"It is a miracle they let you come to Hogwarts," Lucius couldn't help but sneer at the notion that James Potter turned out to be a henpecked snot.

How truly dreadful it would have been if Severus had married that mudblood after all? Lucius had no doubts that the snarky man would have fallen her love's victim just the same. It was better to have him bitter and broken, but sober and concentrated in the Inner Circle, than happy and carefree but in the gutter only Merlin knew where. Besides, he highly doubted that Severus could be happy with that woman, she had always brought him only pain and misery even if he blindly believed it to be freedom and affection. Lucius was there, he saw it all for what it truly was.

"It is a miracle you have grown up the man you are now," he looked at Harry pointedly.

"The man she doesn't want anymore," Harry chuckled bitterly, remembering Lily's last words to him. Tainted, he was tainted to her, he was defected. Not good enough.

She had even made her own son miserable. How could anybody love this woman? What for? Lucius could not for the life of him fathom this mystery.

"I don't think you should listen to your parents' opinion on the matter, Mr Potter, you are now separated. Not by time and distance, but by the worlds you live in. I know it is a very hard advice to follow, but you must ignore their words, no matter how much they hurt you or are precious to you." He moved his hand and covered Harry's, that lay helplessly next to the cup. It jerked under his touch, but the young wizard didn't pull away and Lucius got a hold of his warm, soft fingers, squeezing them gently between his own. "For a man like you are your mother must have been the world, the god and the law, but you are not a child anymore and she is not the woman you used to worship. It is time you grow up and be a man that you truly are, not the man she dreams you could be. It is a rare opportunity nowadays, to be yourself, use it while you can."

His soft voice, his gentle touch and his open, sincere gaze were so foreign to Harry, so unusual and heartbreaking. When was the last time he was being held by his hand like that? Hermione held him when he had to spend a week in the Hospital Wing after a serious injury he got during the match. It seemed a whole eternity had passed since that day instead of a few years.

"You are too kind to me, sir, I don't deserve it... I don't understand why are you so good to me?" He shouldn't have asked but he did, he wanted to know the answer, he needed to know.

"It is quite simple, Mr Potter," Lucius smiled brightly, squeezing Harry's hand in his, immensely enjoying every second of their skin on skin contact, of their warmth being shared between them. "I like you. I am kind to those who deserve it. You do. I like you and I want to be good to you, what more reasons do you need?"

Blushing fiercely Harry lowered his gaze, feeling sudden numbness in his lips and legs and dizzying lightness in his head. "Thank you, Mr Malfoy." What was this strange sensation? The man said he liked him, it wasn't anything special, many boys in his dormitory told him they liked him and called him their mate. No, he thought, when he looked up at the sounds of Malfoy's quiet, pleasant laughter, this was something else. Something more. Attraction? Was he attracted to his boss?

"Please, Mr Potter, spare me!" Lucius covered his already aching from constant smiling mouth with his free hand, thinking that he had never laughed so much in his life like he had in this month and a half that Harry worked for him. "I hate to say this, but you have to get back to that report and complete it. We have to be in the Games and Sports Department in an hour, it would be most convenient if you had it finished by then."

"Yes, Mr Malfoy, of course," Harry smiled awkwardly and hurried to get away from the man and his touch. What was wrong with these dark wizards? Why were Malfoy and Riddle, two scariest men he had ever met, each in his own fashion, kinder and more appreciative of him than anybody else, his own family? Had he been really mistaken in his judgement of the Dark, based on his father's and Sirius' words?

xxx

"The mind shields took me almost two weeks of hard work during the nights - I have had a hard time coming to understand the actual process of creating them. There are no useful instructions in any of the books that are available to me. I do have a feeling sometimes that they were either edited by someone or they were initially written without any clear purpose, since they can't teach anything and only help waste one's precious time. Judging by the atrociously low number of living masters of both arts today it would be fair to assume that they were written by those who never mastered neither Occlumency, nor Legilimency. What a ridiculous display of ignorance."

"In order to build the first shield I had to imagine that my mind was being attacked by another. I have to say I was lucky to be born with such a vivid imagination, otherwise I would have never achieved anything in this field. Following the descriptions of those who have participated in my legilimizing experiments I managed to create a ghost, if I may say so, an illusion of a foreign, hostile presence in my mind. Very much like a dementor, hungry to suck my soul out of me."

Harry shivered at the idea of imagining this horrible creature, of all things, attacking his consciousness. This wizard was a risky, daring person, always looking for the most extreme experiments and dangerous rituals - that much Harry had concluded after reading different parts of the journal.

"The shield is an imaginative veil one creates based on his strong desire to protect his mind. It takes a lot of mental strain, I had to use drugs to make the process easier, since after almost a week of hard work I have noticed I couldn't concentrate on my studies, being constantly distracted by my own thoughts and fear of being discovered."

There was a note on the margins, written in dark green ink, slightly withered with time: "It is highly efficient to take sleeping potions after exercising in clearing and shielding one's mind, since the brain is incapable of relaxing on his own. After receiving the necessary amount of rest the braincells work properly and there is only the physical exhaustion left to cope with, which is easy, due to the amount of the many useful potions developed to solve this problem."

Nodding his head in agreement Harry stood up and walked over to the window with the book in his hands. He took one of the cigarettes he had filled with the drug instead of tobacco and lighted it up with a simple glance at its end. He inhaled deeply and leaned heavily against the wall, lazily blowing the reddish smoke out, as his head started spinning almost instantly. His knees gave out and he slowly slid down to the ground, smiling idiotically despite himself - a pleasant numbness spread all over his limbs and he moaned softly at the lightening sensation in his mind.

It felt as if everything lost its weight, its materiality, he thought he could walk through walls, through time if only he wished to. The steel grey mist in his mind gradually dissipated and Harry took a few deep, calming breaths, preparing himself to the hard work. He couldn't imagine a dementor invading his consciousness, for the mere image of the creature made his gut freeze in horror. Nor could he imagine Snape either, for it was the last person on the planet he wished to think of, and he had to think of the imaginary intruder all the time in order to build reliable shields.

Shifting through his memories, that were ordered so nicely and conveniently now, Harry suddenly stumbled upon the image of Mr Riddle. Why the hell not? The wizard did look a lot like dementor, but he at least was a real human being and a dangerous one. Harry couldn't know if Riddle was a master of Legilimency, but imagining him was not at all unpleasant or disturbing. Besides, he doubted he was going to meet him ever again or any time soon.

"Right," he muttered to himself and finished his cigarette. His senses were twice sharper now, he could hear and smell everything so clearly.

Stretching his neck Harry moaned again and pressed his head against the cool surface of the wall. How would have Riddle done it if he wanted to legilimize him? Perhaps, he would have grabbed on his face again and his raven hair, would have once again touched his skin? Harry touched his cheeks lightly with his fingertips, imagining them to be the wizard's stray locks... Yes, something was telling him that Riddle would have been very gentle in handling him, but his intrusion would have been anything but careful. Frowning Harry tried to pretend that the dark red eyes caught his and pierced right through him, into his very soul.

Was it his vivid imagination or was it the drugs' effect, but he shivered in pain and fear, as his own hand circled his throat and pressed on it gently, while the heavy, calculating gaze held his own frozen. "Ha-ar-ry," a raspy hiss echoed in his head and Harry tensed, panting, in an attempt to fight it, to banish it away. He couldn't help but think that Riddle's presence would be very much the same to the journal author's - disgusting and oily, hostile. He gaged at the unpleasant sensation of a foreign consciousness pushing on his own and tried to imagine the veil, that could hide him from his opponent.

"In order to veil, or shield my mind I have created a layer of water, falling down from a great height and streaming fast and unstoppable in every direction possible. Its rumble should deafen the intruder and disorient him, make him panic and leave. A skilled master of Legilimency would, of course, easily trespass such an obstacle, however, as a first layer it is rather efficient."

Harry creased his brow, sweating and groaning softly to himself, trying very hard to create the illusion of a waterfall and its thunder overcoming the slight but noticeable hissing in his head. Riddle's eyes held him hard in his place, he found it almost impossible to fight him even though he was simply a product of imagination. He arched his back in a rush of pain and sharply came back to reality, having had caught his breath. The process turned out to be harder than he had previously anticipated. Shaking his head in bewilderment and brushing the bids of sweat off of his forehead Harry wondered what was it like to fight a dementor in one's mind over and over again before it was throughly protected? How far was the mysterious wizard ready to go to empower himself even more? Harry looked down at the book that had fallen out of his hands - once again he experienced both fear and admiration towards its creator. Who could he be?

xxx

A few days later Harry was walking down the corridor of Malfoy Manor, dragging a stack of files behind him - they floated in the air, following after his wand's directions. These were the cases of first prosecutions that had been performed in the beginning of the Dark Lord's reign. Malfoy ordered Harry to find them in the Ministry's archives and study them very thoroughly. He didn't know why was he ought to do that, however, his boss always had his reasons and Harry wasn't the one to argue with him. If it was important for him to learn these documents by heart - he would.

Moving slowly past the many paintings, admiring their beauty Harry suddenly found himself in the opposite wing, having had, obviously, lost the track of time and space. He turned to go back and cross the dining hall to get to the grand staircase when he suddenly heard voices behind the door of one of the old tea parlours, that wasn't usually used by the family anymore, since Narcissa got tired of it. He instantly recognized Lucius's soft, pleasant voice, however, the other was unknown to him. Looking around Harry noted that there were no frames nearby to spy on him and he walked towards the slightly opened door on the tips of his toes and peeked inside the barely lit room.

"Peter, stop stammering and explain the hell are you doing in my house?" Lucius hissed irritably at the small, plump man, who stood in front of him, twisting his fat fingers nervously. The more Pettigrew aged, the more he resembled the rat that he was, with his small, dark eyes, thinning grey hair, pointed nose and big front teeth that kept biting on his lower lip for as long as Lucius remembered him. "If I remember correctly we do not meet here anymore, our lord thought it to be pointless, since we have won."

"S-sorry, Lucius, b-b-but our l-lord ordered me to come h-h-here," Pettigrew said, looking at the scowling blonde fearfully.

Peter... Peter Pettigrew. That must be him. Harry frowned, watching the man cower under Malfoy's intent watching. Wasn't he the one who betrayed his parents in the war and gave the Order's plans away to Voldemort? When Sirius found out that he had gotten marked long before they became Aurors he swore he would kill him, however, Pettigrew proved to be smarter than his friends used to think and he never once got caught. And now he was one of the bloodhounds of the Criminal Investigation Department - he specialized in tracking down and catching the muggleborns who tried to cross the border or hide from justice. Twisting his lips in disgust Harry listened in to their conversation.

"And what for?"

"H-he-he... Well, I..." Pettigrew tugged on the collar of his uniform, looking around as if seeking the means of escape.

"Please, be eloquent and quick, I have a lot of work to do!" Lucius sighed theatrically, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. It had always been so hard to work with this idiot, it was a true mystery why did the Dark Lord keep him by his side at all. What use did he actually have beside being a traitor to the Light? He remembered Severus once told him that Peter betrayed the Potters and the Order, but other than that the man had made no noticeable achievements.

"Well, he sent me here to be punished!" Pettigrew blurted out and instantly covered his mouth with his hands, shaking his head vehemently at his own mistake.

"To be punished?" He looked up at the rat and raised his eyebrows in a mild surprise. What was it, a test of his abilities? Was the Dark Lord uncertain of his loyalty or capability to hurt others? Or was his master so weak now that he had to use Lucius to punish his incompetent servants? Neither of the options appealed to him. "What have you done, imbecile?" He towered over feverishly shaking man with his wand already clutched in his hand. Test or not, he wasn't going to confirm his master's doubts.

"I l-lost that b-boy, t-the one that put a bomb at one of the wa-warehouses that we used for laboratories," Pettigrew breathed out, whining. "I lost him at Plymuth. He couldn't cross the border, but I can't find him anywhere!" he cried hysterically and took a step back, seeing how suddenly cold and impassive Malfoy's face turned.

"You lost the one who gave us so much trouble, the one whose interrogation could give us the necessary information to uncover the members of the Resistance at last! And you lost him!"

Harry had never heard Lucius shout before and dearly wished he never did. The man was terrifying in his wrath, his hair became paler, almost white it seemed, and his face darkened, bringing out steel cold eyes, that all but blazed fire. Lucius Malfoy was a very powerful dark wizard and a very dangerous one, but it was so hard to draw a parallel between the man that Harry knew and the horrifying warlock he was seeing now. Swallowing harshly he leaned closer and stared at his boss, who advanced on the cringing man with his black, polished wand in his hand.

"You couldn't perform such a simple task, you, idiot! Even our lord is ashamed of torturing you for your foolishness and incompetence!"

"P-p-please, Lucius," Pettigrew fell on his knees and grabbed on Malfoy's vest, fisting it in his small, plump hands, "Please, be merciful!"

"You know very well that I can't even if I wanted to," Lucius said coldly and pushed him away with his foot, wrinkling his nose in disgust at the pathetic display. "I would never understand how have you become a Death Eater, Peter, when you are barely a man. Look at you, you can't even take a deserved punishment properly, as a true wizard. You are just a piece of white trash."

"Lucius!" Pettigrew cried, but it was too late.

"Crucio!"

Harry watched, mesmerized, how the fat body jerked and wriggled on the floor at Malfoy's feet and how impassively his boss looked at it. He had never seen an Unforgivable Curse being performed before and wondered absentmindedly about its intricate formula. However, a particularly loud howl of pain, that escaped Pettigrew's chest snapped Harry out of his stupor and he pushed his sweated palm tightly against his mouth to not give away his presence. The blood was already floating slowly from underneath the wizard, marring the old, grey carpet, but Malfoy stubbornly stood his ground, his hand never trembled even once, even though Harry saw that the torture didn't bring him any pleasure. If anything his boss looked bored and tired.

Lucius lifted the curse just as suddenly as he put it on Pettigrew, turning his back to the bleeding, wailing man. "Get out of my sight," he gritted out. Only the white knuckles of his fingers showed how truly angry he was now. "You have a week. If you don't get him in seven days - you are dead. I am certain our lord gave you even less time, so accept this as a mercy you were begging for."

Harry hadn't heard the rest, for he darted back into the corridor and into the dining hall, desperately wishing he hadn't seen it all. However, he thought as he walked towards the staircase, it was important to get to know Lucius' other side, the one that helped him survive and stay in Voldemort's good graces and Inner Circle for so long. Just recently Harry had come to an unexpected conclusion that he was indeed trusting Malfoy with his life, even though he had no rational reason for that. He simply trusted him, he didn't know why, but, perhaps, it was his intuition that told him that the wizard was somebody he could rely on...

Disturbing was the word that could describe everything he had witnessed moments ago, disturbing but very real. This was the real, adult life he had been so skillfully avoiding, while working in the bookshop, being a mundane book himself - being put to one place or another without any clear purpose. But now he was a human being and he had to learn to live amongst the predators and, eventually, become one of them.

Harry stumbled and couldn't prevent himself from jerking slightly in fear and disdain, when a fat body of Peter Pettigrew suddenly collapsed with his in the middle of the hall. "Harry?" the man, who was cradling his bleeding side, looked into his face, astonished and scared. "Is that really you? W-what are you d-doing... here?!"

"I work here. Sir," he reluctantly added the title and lowered his gaze, feeling annoyance grating on his nerves. He didn't even know the man, but the mere thought that the one who betrayed his family was walking freely around and had the audacity to talk to him galled him to no end.

"You?!" Peter widened his eyes in horror, "You are working for Malfoys?! B-b-but they are dark!"

"So what?" Harry couldn't help but sneer at the man and brushed past him to ascend the first steps of the grand staircase. "There is no difference to me between the dark and the light as long as the wizard is a decent person."

"But Lucius fought your parents! So many times!"

"However, he didn't betray them!" Harry twisted his lips and averted his gaze, squeezing his eyes in resentment. "How could you do that to the people who loved you? They truly loved you and cared for you and this is how you have paid them..." He shook his head and moved to go upstairs, trying hard not to look at the disgusting creature, who was whining incomprehensible excuses to his back.

"But y-you have no idea what you've gotten y-yourself in-into!" Pettigrew cried meekly, biting on his lower lip and watching the boy, no, the young man, who was anything but a Potter, stop and slowly turn back to him.

"I doubt this is any of your business, sir," Harry gritted out, curling his fingers into tight fists, feeling the fingernails digging deeply into his skin. "Please, do not ever speak to me again, I am afraid I wouldn't be able to answer for the consequences." With that he hastily left, not sparing Pettigrew another glance, hurrying to hide in his room as quickly as possible. He had never felt so angry and aggressive in his life before. He still clearly remembered the way his father's face fell every time he spoke of Peter, with that sorrow and evident regret in his eyes and deep lines on his forehead. James and Sirius lost a friend, not to the Dark Lord, but to the man's own cowardice and vile, weak nature.

Lucius stood in the shadows of the hallway, watching the scene curiously and rubbing on his chin thoughtfully. He always found Harry's inconceivable understanding of right and wrong rather admirable, a rare gift that the boy had inherited, only Salazar knew from whom, along with his intellect and power. The way the young man reacted to the rat showed that Harry was indeed impulsive and passionate. The concept of vengeance, righteous wrath wasn't foreign to him and this notion intrigued Lucius.

"I have accidentally witnessed your short conversation with Pettigrew, Mr Potter," he said nonchalantly, when Harry opened his door at his knock. "I came to simply inquire about your state." The young wizard looked upset, angry and Lucius couldn't help but feel elated, excited at the slight itching underneath his skin - the other's powerful aura was rather evident now and it turned his head. His lovely assistant was a true riddle and a true wonder. And a terrible temptation.

"I am fine, sir," Harry smiled modestly, however, knew very well that his smile wasn't as sincere as it should have been. He moved aside and let Malfoy enter.

"But you are very angry. There is nothing wrong in being angry, Mr Potter, but it is wrong to let your frustration and other negative emotions pent up inside you and hurt you eventually." Lucius tilted his head a little, seemingly watching Harry, yet his eyes roamed around the room, taking in every little detail.

The young man who lived here was very careful with his personal belongings - practically nothing had changed, only an ashtray appeared at the windowsill and the desk was buried under the stacks of folders and papers, books. It was hard to say who lived here, the room didn't reflect its owner's personality. Lucius doubted it was normal, perhaps, Harry lived in fear that he would have to leave soon and that was why he couldn't make this place a home for himself... Or he was hiding something.

"He hurt my parents very much," Harry sighed, leaning against the bedpost and scowling at the tips of his shoes.

"However, as he has correctly noticed, I hurt them too, many, many times," Lucius smiled, crossing his arms over his chest and looking at the boy intently.

Chuckling despite himself, Harry shook his head, "It was their choice to fight you, to get injured. You, Mr Malfoy, and my parents - you all fought for what you thought was right and hurting each other in the process was inevitable. However, you never betrayed them. You never broke their hearts - a wound, that, as you know, cannot be healed even by magic."

"Hmm," Lucius hummed to himself, watching his assistant warmly. Harry's wisdom and compassionate nature fascinated him and he dearly wished he could preserve them only for himself. "Forgive me for saying this, but I can't understand how could anybody ever love Pettigrew, except for his old mother, of course," he said sarcastically, arching his eyebrows, feeling for the spots he could push far enough for the boy to still trust him but show his temper and nature.

"I never knew him, I can't say," Harry shrugged his shoulders, hiding his annoyance. "All I know is that he was my father's and godfather's best friend and they were ready to give their lives for his sake. I am certain they would have forgiven him for taking the Mark if only he had told them. But he decided to benefit from their blind trust instead and sold them out."

"Do you wish to kill him?" Lucius asked simply, sitting down on the edge of the desk.

Harry considered him for a while with such a heavy, serious stare, that he strained himself to not show the shiver that ran down his spine. Sometimes these beautiful, green eyes looked so oddly, so coldly and foreignly, it was hard to accept the fact that they were still Harry's. How much more was there to his personality?

"No, I would never kill a person out of spite or vengeance," Harry furrowed his brow, pursing his lips into a thin line. He knew what Malfoy was doing, he planned to play on his feelings and weaknesses and help him cross over to the Dark side under the pretense of understanding his pain and helping him to cope with it. Many wizards joined the Dark Lord because they were promised to have an opportunity to take revenge on their enemies.

"Do you wish him dead?" Lucius knew that the right answers often depended on the properly posed question.

This time Harry didn't take any time to ponder over his words, "No." And that was when he knew that his assistant lied to him.

"Pity," he sighed, "He might die very soon... You could watch."

Harry shook his head, "It wouldn't bring me joy or satisfaction."

Lucius nodded, smiling knowingly, "It is impossible to say unless you have tried it, Mr Potter." He coughed into his curled palm, stealing mirthful glances at the boy, who watched him with that scientific interest written all over his beautiful face. His inexperience and innocence, fear of violence contradicted with his rational, hungry for knowledge mind and genuinely curious nature, and their battle was so obvious in his brightly shining eyes, that Lucius couldn't resist and let a broad, feral grin stretch his face, showing his bald pleasure. "Do keep in mind that I have no wish to encourage the violent streak in you, nor I am a fan of violent methods and torturing, however, I know the pain of a broken heart, and I know how much it hurts you to live with your parents' wounds, that leave scars on your soul," he straightened and stepped forward, hovering over Harry and looking at him carefully. "You should not be ashamed of your desire to avenge your family, it is only logical and expected of a pureblood wizard that you are, Mr Potter. But the means you choose to achieve it would reflect your intelligence and cunningness."

Smelling the white fruit wine out of Malfoy's mouth that was mere inches from his own, feeling the warm breath brush teasingly against his skin Harry tried to concentrate on the pale grey eyes and the words that were being spoken to him. Now that his powers had grown he felt Lucius so much clearer, so much better, he could practically reach out and touch his dark magic, that oozed lazily out of the man's very pores. "The means?" he breathed out, stubbornly ignoring the long, soft, blond hair, which tips tickled on his hands that were folded tightly in front of him.

"You could very well kill him personally. He has fallen into Dark Lord's disgrace, it would have been so easy to hunt him down and simply get rid of him - hardly anybody would look for him, of that I can assure you. On the other hand," Lucius purred, tilting his head to the side and tapping on his thin lips with one of his fingers, watching Harry humorously, "As an intelligent wizard that you are, you could let others do your dirty job for you and simply reap the fruits of others' labour. You could come out of his murder clean and satisfied with the result, don't you think?"

This was Lucius' true nature that saved his life all these years - the ability to adjust and gain the maximum advantage out of any opportunity that falls into his hands. This was something Harry knew he had to learn, but couldn't quite come in terms with.

"I doubt his death would improve my parents' life," he said quietly, "And, to be honest with you, sir, I am a coward. I am scared of taking other's life, I feel it is not my decision to make..."

What a noble soul resided in his young assistant, Lucius mused, marveling the boy's flushed face, his averted eyes that were hidden behind the long, thick, black eyelashes, that palpitated slightly under his gaze. "Do you trust me, Mr Potter?" he asked lowly and at this words the emerald eyes locked with his and the red lips parted slowly in uncertainty and surprise.

"Yes," Harry whispered, suddenly frightened that Malfoy could read him so easily. He trusted the man who could easily torture another, he trusted the man who offered him to kill Pettigrew or to make others do it for him. He trusted him nevertheless.

"Then believe me when I say that you are not a coward, far from it," Lucius smiled and placed his hand on the boy's shoulder, rubbing on it gently, almost imperceptibly. "Don't be so unfair and so hard on yourself, Mr Potter, you truly don't deserve it. You are a worthy wizard and you will grow up a decent person... you already are, if you asked me."

Staring at his boss in astonishment and blushing fiercely at his praise and friendly, warm tone and touch Harry swallowed harshly and barely pronounced, "Thank you." How could Malfoy be so many different persons in one? How could he be so mercantile, cruel, cold, cunning and gentle, understanding, admirable at the same time?

"Nothing to thank me for, Mr Potter, not for saying the truth you have already known, but so stubbornly refused to acknowledge," Lucius sighed, pleased, and squeezed the shoulder lightly before letting go of it. "Think about what I said, there is no shame in experiencing emotions you are trying so hard to suppress. You have to learn to live with them and use them to your own advantage. Never let them control you, but always remember how much power stands behind them." Giving Harry one last encouraging nod and warm glance he left, feeling content and aroused, much, so much better - he had even forgotten that Pettigrew came here at all.

xxx

It was eleven in the morning on Saturday, when Lucius decided it was late enough to wake Harry up and bring him the news. Although he was almost certain that the young wizard didn't sleep in on weekends like all of them did, no doubt studying instead. Used to Draco's laziness and usually long procrastinating in bed Lucius couldn't help but admire Harry's hard-working stamina - it was nothing close to Potters, such a rare trait, that showed just how much the boy could achieve if only he wished to. With a few papers clutched in his fist for pretense's sake he walked out of the master bedroom, leaving the ever annoyed and suspicious Narcissa to have her breakfast in bed in a company of a house elf. Her jealousy entertained him, since he had always believed that she never even liked him, being betrothed to him right out of her mother's womb. However, her reaction to his lovely assistant was most pleasing. He never loved Narcissa, dutifully keeping up a façade of a caring and affectionate husband, but the fact that the cold, indifferent woman had actually developed some kind of feelings towards him complimented his vanity.

Brushing away the thoughts of his wife Lucius stopped at Harry's door and knocked on it three times and pushed the handle down - he was the master of the house after all, he could very well enter without any warning. He secretly wished to run into Harry naked, or sleeping, or wet after shower, but that would have been too much for his own boundaries.

"Mr Potter, I hope I didn’t wake you up, I... Mr Potter?" Lucius looked around in confusion. The bedroom looked empty, however, many parchments were scattered all over the floor and the bed was unmade though didn't look slept in. But Harry was nowhere to be seen.

"Sir?!" He heard a quiet mumbling from somewhere below. "Fuck!" A low swearing came after a loud bang on the wooden surface and Lucius saw a small, narrow foot showing from underneath the desk.

Smiling he walked forward and bent down to look under the table. "Good morning, Mr Potter. May I ask what are you doing under the writing desk?"

Blushing fiercely in embarrassment Harry squinted at the blonde, trying hard to see through the glue of sleepiness, that kept his eyelids tightly shut together. "Spell crafting, sir, experiments and stuff," he muttered hoarsely, rubbing on his puffy eyes.

Shaking his head Lucius crouched in front of him, chuckling mirthfully, "Fallen asleep, haven't you? You shouldn't exhaust yourself so much, Mr Potter. Who knows where else would you fall asleep the next time? Weekends are made for getting as much rest as you can." His eyes roamed over the young man's delicate form, draped in light, green sleeping robe, with his long legs wrapped by tight trousers he hadn't shed since yesterday it seemed. Harry was a true scientist and a naturally creative person, and the havoc, that he had wrecked around himself, Lucius found rather admirable, very much so.

"Yes," Harry grumbled in surrender and, rubbing on the place where he had hit his head, moved to crawl out. Lucius stepped away to give him space and watched him slowly get out of his ridiculous position with a barely hidden pleasure in his expression. Elegant even in his clumsiness Harry seemed to be made of the most adorable traits.

Lucius smacked his lips, as the annoying itch of a sexual desire had once again awakened in him, and pulled himself together. It wasn't the time. Not yet.

“Good morning, sir, excuse me for... This." Harry stared around helplessly when he finally stood up and smoothed his wrinkled robe.

"It is your room, Mr Potter, as long as you don't set it on fire you may do whatever you want in here," Lucius waved his hand, dismissing the problem altogether, yet his eyes were locked on the collarbone and shoulder that were naked, as the robe had slid down a little while Harry was trying to rearrange it.

The wizard's skin was so pale and so soft, Lucius could count all the thin veins showing through, all the little moles covering it. Tempting, so very tempting. Squeezing his eyes shut he forced himself to look away and stared at the glass ashtray on the windowsill - it looked like Harry smoked almost the whole pack through the night. Lucius suddenly realized that he had never seen the boy smoking and he regretted it, for he could only guess how much more seductive it made him look. Biting on the inside of his cheek in annoyance he wondered if there was anything he could concentrate on that wasn't going to lead him to a conclusion that he had to have Harry in his hands naked right this very moment.

"I came to bring important news to you and to deal with a few matters at hand."

"Of course, sir," Harry tried to sound as sober as he could, but was still too sleepy to pay attention to his boss' strained tone and posture. He bent down to collect a few papers, "Please, sit down, I will just..."

"No need for that, Dobby will clean these up," Lucius sighed, smiling at Harry's incompetence and taking him carefully by the arm. "You sit down and have a cup of strong coffee, young man." He flicked his fingers as soon as Harry was seated at his desk and Dobby appeared in the room, carrying the tray with breakfast and coffee already prepared to the boy's taste.

"But what about you, sir?" Harry frowned when he realized that there was only his meal on the desk before him and Malfoy sat opposite him with only an empty cup in his hand.

"Don't worry, Mr Potter, I have already eaten, however, I would gladly share your coffee with you if you don't mind."

Nodding in affirmation Harry gulped his own cup down and instantly felt much better, sober, concentrated. Sighing pleasantly at the bitter, hot liquid spreading through his stiffened body, he slowly munched on his portion of porridge and fruits.

"Do you always drink coffee with ginger?" Lucius smiled from behind his cup, surprised by the taste.

It was said that only muggles added ginger into their drinks to improve their blood pressure and gain the necessary energy for the day - however, this was one of the many misconceptions that existed in their now secluded magical world. Ginger had always been used by witches and wizards and it was them who introduced muggles to the root's powerful qualities. Only few knew that, mostly those who mastered the art of potion brewing.

"Yes. Headmaster Snape always has it at breakfasts. I used to wonder how is he capable of working so much, of teaching and of keeping a night's watch three times a week - anybody would have gone crazy living like that. I asked the elves and they told me what he has ordered them to add to his every meal and drink. It really works," Harry explained, smiling modestly at Malfoy, who rolled his eyes and shook his head humorously.

"Why do I have a feeling that it was also you who convinced the poor creatures to add laxative potion into his meals for almost a whole week, until he had finally deduced what was happening to him?" Lucius laughed loudly, remembering how much Severus had suffered then. It was Harry's seventh year at the school, the boy had literally nothing to lose to be able to accomplish such a feat.

Harry only shrugged his shoulders with an absolutely serious expression on his face, "You will never know now, sir."

"I am actually surprised nothing has happened to Draco yet. I wouldn't put it past you, judging by what he had told me of your constant confrontations, to add something into his food, or his bed..." Lucius gave Harry a mischievous, knowing look, and the boy blushed slightly again, blinking often and smiling innocently.

"He might be keeping quiet about it, that is all." He knew he was playing with fire, but somehow he felt Malfoy wasn't going to punish him for pranking Draco, if anything the man might even encourage him.

"I see." Lucius stared at him for a moment and then snorted indignantly into his fist and coughed harshly, fighting hard another bout of laughter that was trying to escape his lips. "Thank you, Mr Potter," he bit out through the rasp chuckles, "For starting my morning on such a ridiculously positive note."

"Any time, sir," Harry grinned, unable to resist the temptation to join the older wizard. Lucius' laughter and humor were rather contagious and he especially enjoyed the way the man smiled at him - his grey eyes melted, looked warmly and shone so kindly, teasingly, nothing like the cold, hard stones they used to be when he and Harry had to work at the Ministry or in the field, communicating with strangers or simply insignificant, as Malfoy called them, people. Nothing like they were when he tortured Pettigrew.

"Now, to the news that I brought before I forgot," he purred, pleased to see Harry smiling at him in such fashion. This particular smile of his made Lucius' heart flatter and the echo of this sensation travel all the way down and into his cock. Soon, very soon, he thought to himself, he would be able to kiss that smile, possess it just like everything else. "I have promised to take you to one of the parties of the highest society and to introduce you to our world properly. I was planning to take you to one of our own smaller gatherings, that is going to be held in the end of May, but just this morning I have received a personal invitation to a grand ball in Paris that is being organized by our comrades there. I will have to attend the event and I am going to take you with me, since there might be some work to do." He watched Harry grow pale and frightened again, which he found rather natural for a shy, unsocial boy, who had never met anybody before he came to work in his office.

"B-ball? Tomorrow?" Harry stared at Malfoy in horror. The last and only ball he had ever attended was at school and was a complete disaster and he tried very hard to erase any memories of it out of his mind. But attending a ball of Death Eaters and other dark wizards sounded absolutely insane to him, he couldn't feel his legs anymore, so scared he felt now.

"Yes," Lucius nodded his head, "There is a matter of your dress for tomorrow. I can't choose the right colour for you and thought you could help me out," he drawled, batting his eyelashes at the boy, who was watching him as if he had lost his mind. "Don't give me that look, Mr Potter, I know you have been to the Christmas Ball at Hogwarts, you know very well that you need a dancing robe."

"Y-yes," Harry stammered, frantically seeking a way out of this and finding none.

"At first I thought about emerald robe with silver, to match your eyes, but emerald doesn't really work for me, and we should be dressed similarly, since you are a guest I am bringing with me. Silver and golden are boring and I have worn them two years ago already. Purple and pink don't really suit you..."

"Black?" Harry offered in a small voice, praying that the earth could swallow him up right this instant.

"Mr Potter, it is a ball we are attending, not a funeral," Lucius rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Every time we have to go on public you are losing your famous gryffindor courage and hotheadedness, which are exactly what one needs when choosing a dress to impress others... Oh, this is brilliant!" He sat up sharply, frightening Harry even more with a sudden change in his aura. "We will wear red! Blood red colour, very gryffindor, very rich, powerful and striking. Yes, very good," Lucius tapped on his lips, already plotting the most complimenting cut of their dresses.

"Does it have to be a dancing robe?" He still remembered the atrocious purple thing that Ron had worn that day, which was the traditional pureblood outfit. Harry was luckier, since James had his own formal robe in a very good condition, neatly kept on the bottom of one of the chests with his parents' clothes, and it didn't look like Weasley's.

"Of course, there would be many lovely young ladies in attendance, somebody will have to dance with them," Lucius raised his eyebrows, showing how obvious the notion was.

"But I am your assistant, sir, I would be working there, certainly I wouldn't have to dance?" Harry whispered desperately, pleading his boss with his huge, wet eyes to say yes.

"No." Harry dropped his head on the table, barely missing the empty bowl of porridge, so hard, that Lucius couldn't help but wonder if he fainted. "You will have to dance, Mr Potter. Haven't you danced at Hogwarts?"

"No," Harry whined, raising his head and rubbing on the stinging forehead. "Well, I... No, I am not sure that was dancing."

"I see," Lucius clicked his tongue. "Get washed up and dressed and meet me in my study in ten minutes." He stood up sharply and moved to the door. "We will have to work on that little flaw of yours."

When Harry turned around, having had realized what did exactly the last threat mean, Malfoy was already out of his room. Staring at the closed door in bewilderment he tried very hard to wrap his mind around everything that he had just learned. A ball, a dancing red robe, ladies, Paris... This was too much for him to handle. Harry summoned his cigarette pack from the window, but it was empty. Swearing he dragged himself into the bathroom, cursing the day he was born.

xxx

Next to Lucius' study his personal training room was situated and that was where Harry found him ten minutes later, having have changed a robe to a black shirt and having have brushed his teeth - he wasn't able to do anything else with himself, for the anxiety got the better of him.

"This will do," Lucius said, giving him a look over. Harry was so thin, but manly built, and so fragile and elegant in his curves, it was impossible to find anybody who could be compared to him, anybody just as captivating. His calm and modest posture, the ever smiling lips and brightly shining eyes were what had always gained Lucius' attention. He was even entertaining the idea of not taking Harry with him, since he was absolutely certain that everyone would notice his young wizard and would advance on him shamelessly. "Come and stand next to me, I will correct your stance."

Tentatively Harry stepped forward and came closer to the older man. Malfoy was so much taller than him, he couldn't imagine how were they going to do it. Dancing. Dancing with his boss. Harry wanted to run away, dearly wished he could, but the soft hands had already captured his and pulled him even closer. Staring dumbly at the crook of the long, pale neck, Harry somewhat distantly acknowledged that an arm circled his waist with outmost care and gentleness.

"I will lead first so that you understood how to hold a lady the right way, Mr Potter," Lucius said quietly over Harry's ear, smiling slyly to himself, as his hand slid across the boy's back and around his narrow waist, and as their chests pressed accidentally against each other. "There must be a small space between you, since you are not married." He had to reluctantly pull away a little. "Her hand should be placed upon your upper arm." He demonstrated by moving Harry's hand a little higher and taking his other hand into his and squeezing it lovingly. "Hold your partner tightly but not too much - long dresses often cause accidents on the dance floor, you must be able to keep a lady safe from falling."

The young man nodded in understanding, keeping quiet. Lucius could feel how tensed Harry was and wished he could just kiss him to help him relax, but this would have been most inappropriate now and counterproductive.

"Look down and watch our feet move. The scheme is quite simple, all you have to do is to catch the rhythm of the music and of our bodies."

A waltz started playing somewhere far away and they slowly began moving. Harry kept obediently staring down, feeling the heat slowly building up inside him and showing itself on his burning cheeks. Malfoy was so gentle, smelled so nicely and felt so wonderful next to him, Harry feared he might say something stupid under the intent gaze of these cunning, grey eyes and concluded it was better to keep his mouth shut.

"You are crafting spells, Mr Potter, therefore you are versed in arithmacy. Dancing, in its technicality, just like music, is very much about the harmony of the numbers. Find it and you will be able to master any kind of a dance. However, the true nature of this art lies in passion. Emotions drive your body, very much like your magic when you are casting a spell. Relax and give in to the sounds, that would help you find the right direction, and you will be able to dance with anybody anywhere to any music and you will do it well and, most importantly, you will enjoy it."

Harry never thought that he would enjoy swaying to the music, while being in other's arms. If he was honest with himself he found it to be so pleasant, found Malfoy's leading so easy and comfortable, he briefly wondered if could dance with only his boss at the ball. Shaking his head in astonishment at his own thoughts Harry concentrated on the process of stepping in tact with his partner, scowling darkly at his own clumsy feet.

"You are doing very well for a beginner, Mr Potter," Lucius praised him, noticing the sudden change in the boy's expression. He gently stopped and moved one of Harry's hands onto his waist, inwardly wishing he could place it underneath his clothes. "Now, you lead."

"I?" Harry looked up at him sharply, lost and insecure. "But, but you are taller, sir, how can I..."

"Would you reject a lady if she happens to be taller than you are, Mr Potter?" Lucius asked teasingly, smiling at the embarrassed wizard.

"Of course not," he surrendered. Involuntarily feeling for the wizard's body through his shirt, Harry moved his hand a little higher, extremely uncomfortable to touch his employer on his backside. However, he couldn't help but notice absentmindedly how fit Malfoy was, lean and strong to the touch. This physical strength, he found, brought him some sort of calm, satisfaction. Suddenly ashamed of his obvious appreciation of the other's body Harry jerked to move and led the man to the quiet sounds of cellos, unsteadily at first, but the strong, soft hands corrected him gently and soon they were circling the space of the room in a fast but graceful pace.

"Very good, Mr Potter, very good," Lucius smiled broadly, pleased with Harry's progress and hand on his waist, which he wished could move a little lower. "You are almost ready for the ball. Let me show you two more classical dances that are usually given there and you won't have to worry about this anymore."

Harry obediently complied, changing positions of his feet and hands, bowing, turning, spinning and stepping back and forth, storing the information into his mind while watching Malfoy's content, delighted expression and wondering what did his boss think of him. It was difficult to understand his own feelings at the moment, for Harry felt completely lost. He enjoyed Lucius' company and personality immensely, he admired his wisdom and intelligence, but at the same time he was wary of the wizard, whom he knew to be a ruthless murderer, even if the man didn't find any joy in killing - it didn't amend his sins. Harry trusted him with his life and yet his life depended solely on Lucius' mercy, should he one day be discovered. He bitterly thought that he was in fact in a half-dead state already...

A hand, seemingly by an accident, slipped and brushed against his buttock and Harry caught his breath, staring down at their feet. He didn't know if he should react to that or just pretend it never happened, he had absolutely no experience. Goosebumps covered his arms and legs when soft, blond hair touched his cheek and he closed his eyes, involuntarily marveling its silkiness... He was attracted to a man, to a Death Eater, to a murder and Voldemort's closest follower, he was attracted to his own employer and future executioner... Harry barely held back a groan of desperation, as they spun, and the sweet, fresh scent of his boss attacked his senses. Helpless, he felt so helpless in Lucius Malfoy's gentle hands, under his kind, laughing gaze of the pale grey eyes, that held so many promises in them. What had he gotten himself into?

xxx

Harry had never been abroad before, his parents were prohibited to travel and he hadn't gotten himself the necessary license for that, since he had no money to indulge himself anyway. Staring through the window at the lighted up Eiffel Tower he tried to understand what was so special about it that simply kept his eyes and mind locked on its form. It was just a piece of metal, the one that muggles had constructed, it wasn't even magical... And yet he kept watching it, blinking often at its bright, gleaming lights that gradually changed their colours from white and cold blue to golden and scarlet. Disturbed by the sounds of the steps behind him he involuntarily focused his gaze on his own reflection - his red robe looked like a blood splatter on the shining surface of the glass, contrasting sharply with his pale face and widely opened, scared green eyes.

"Are you done admiring yourself, Mr Potter?" He heard Malfoy laugh softly and turned to see his boss rearranging his long, heavy hair to lie on his right shoulder. The wizard wore a robe of just the same cut and colour, it wrapped him tightly, showing off his fit body, broad shoulders, thin but strong arms. Harry looked down at himself, suddenly self-conscious of his small, skinny frame. "Come, it is time for us to enter and do our job," Lucius sighed tiredly, like an old actress of a small, poor theater, and straightened his back, holding his cane loosely in his hand.

"Yes, sir," Harry came to stand on his left, holding his working journal tightly in his hands. His task was to follow Malfoy everywhere, to listen to his every conversation and to remember each and every face and name he would know tonight. With his Occlumency skills Harry didn't need the journal, of course, but he couldn't let his boss know that and decided to write a few things down for pretense's sake.

Nodding to his assistant one last time Lucius raised his chin and stepped through the double doors into the huge ballroom, full of colourfully dressed wizards and witches. Harry squinted slightly at the bright light of the hundreds of candles that soared high underneath the ceiling, but kept his face as impassive as he could, copying after Malfoy. They were instantly recognized and he swallowed harshly at the realization that people started whispering between themselves, shamelessly pointing their heavily jeweled fingers at him. Nothing was really different here, the present cohort was hardly different from the rest of the British magical folk, despite being ugly rich, of course. They all were flattering with Malfoy and seeking his attention all the same, showering him with compliments and bold innuendos, that Harry found very boring and outright rude. However, he also got his fair share of others' interest.

"Who might this young man be, Lucius?" A stocky man with a big, black moustache addressed him in a harsh, rumbling voice. "I have never seen him at your manor."

"This is Mr Potter, my personal assistant," Lucius smiled slyly and turned to Harry, "Let me introduce Lord Parkinson to you, the Head of the Law Enforcement in Britain."

"A Potter?" Parkinson tilted his huge, heavy head to the side, watching Harry as if he was a fruit on the display at the market. "How unexpected. He does look like a pureblood, I have to admit. It's all his ancient blood, of course, it can't be spoilt even by the mud of the muggles."

"An honour to meet you, sir," Harry bowed, hiding the slight frown that appeared on his face despite his best efforts to keep himself in check. Something was telling him it wasn't the last conversation of such kind he was going to have tonight and the prospect had already started grating on his nerves. To be discussed so carelessly, as a slave, or a simple piece of trash underneath their feet sickened him. He once again concluded that only Malfoy saw him for the human being that he was and didn't really care for his background.

Lucius thought he saw Harry's displeased glare and hummed to himself in understanding. If the boy wanted to achieve something in their world he had to let himself to be dragged through the foulest dirt before they would realize his value and acknowledge his talents and significance. However, deep in his heart he wished to rid Harry of such torment, for the boy didn’t really deserve it, being the victim of circumstances.

"Ah, Astoria!" he brushed past the blubbering Parkinson, in an attempt to escape his annoying company and save Harry's dignity. "My dear girl, how good it is to see you." Lucius bowed before the young witch and kissed her hand a little longer than it was necessary, thinking that as her future father-in-law he could afford himself such familiarity.

"Lady Greengrass," Harry gratefully bowed before the small, brown haired girl, that he remembered from his year in Hogwarts. Her equally brown eyes watched him dumbly - she clearly had no memories of him whatsoever.

"Astoria, this is Mr Potter, my personal assistant. Mr Potter, miss Astoria, future Lady Malfoy," Lucius purred, pleased to see that there were no negative emotions between the two. "And her younger sister, Daphne," he gestured at the smaller girl, who had just jumped up to her sister and hung on her arm, openly staring at Harry.

"You are Harry Potter, aren't you?" she asked, laughing brightly. "I remember you from Hogwarts, you always beat Draco in quidditch!" The comment made Astoria smile slightly and Harry thought he caught a glimpse of recognition in her eyes.

"Yes, that would be me," he shrugged his shoulders shyly, tucking the now long, raven locks of hair behind his ear. Girls always made him nervous, he felt so useless in their company, as if his own legs and arms did not really belong to him and he had no idea what to do with them.

"You look so lovely, so handsome! It's such a shame you are already betrothed to Draco, Astoria!" Daphne exclaimed, and both sisters burst into ringing laughter, hiding their mouths behind their small palms.

"Well, you, my dear, still have your chance," Lucius laughed as well and winked at the child, watching Harry out of the corner of his eye - the boy was just as red and embarrassed as he had anticipated. "I will leave your entertainment in Mr Potter's reliable hands. Excuse me," he bowed slightly and threw Harry a pointed look before leaving him behind and walking straight towards Severus. Their conversation didn't need any witnessing.

"Oh, well..." Harry stammered uncertainly under the humourous gazes of his young, female companions.

"How did you manage to become Mr Malfoy's assistant? Draco told me it is very hard to meet his criteria," Astoria folded her hands behind her back and leaned towards him a little, looking into his face curiously. Her sister instantly copied after her.

"I don't know, honestly, I just came to the interview and he hired me," Harry smiled modestly in reply.

"I remember now," Astoria pressed her tiny finger against her lips, musing, "You were the best student in our year, I used to watch you drink heavily at Slughorn's parties," she giggled, sharing a mischievous look with her sister.

"Yes, I did," Harry coughed into his fist and bit on his lower lip. And here he hoped she would never remember him there, of all places. "I really hated those parties, being the only gryffindor in attendance. They were lethally boring," he tried to excuse himself, knowing very well how lame it sounded.

"Oh, don't tell me," the young witch waved her hand at him, "If it wasn't for Draco, who kept dragging me from one corner to another, I would have gotten drunk there myself! I will never-" But she was interrupted by the gong, that signaled the beginning of the first dance. "Oh!" Astoria perked up and grabbed Harry by the hand, "Please, dance with me! Otherwise I will have to dance with one of these awful boys from Beauxbutons, I simply can't stand their snobbishness and unbearable attitude towards us, english women!" And before Harry could protest and make up an excuse to escape the unwanted fate, he had been already pulled on the dance floor.

"If I remember correctly, Potter couldn't dance, barely shuffled his feet from left to right," Severus muttered, as he and Lucius watched the pairs move around in a graceful pace.

"The boy's many talents you have so carelessly overlooked..." Lucius drawled chidingly, grinning from behind his glass of champagne.

"Don't tell me you taught him," Severus shook his head, rolling his eyes in exasperation.

"With a little help of summer rain the early rose has bloomed…" he murmured to his darkly scowling friend and turned his back to the dance floor, to speak privately. "Why the Hell are there so many light wizards? I saw Dumbledore chatting with Rosier, as if they were old friends."

"This ball is a collaborative project between our party and most of the shareholders of the magical corporations in the Northern Europe. I haven't got the slightest idea what are they trying to achieve by mixing us all up together, but our lord seems skeptical about the whole affair and sent the heads of Auror Divisions to supervise the event. Here is Black, by the way," Severus sneered at the sight of the unshaved wizard, who walked aimlessly around the room and flashed wide, shameless grins at the young witches.

"I see." Lucius twisted his lips in ire and sipped on his drink, narrowing his eyes at the tall, pointed hat, that stood out against the crowd. Dumbledore was a problem, the old coot had the reputation of a skillful manipulator and could brainwash practically anybody. Harry was a perfect victim, with his nobility and generosity and aversion towards violence. "I will have to keep an eye on the boy then."

"Potter always means problems, I told you it was a mistake to hire him. Now you have to babysit him, as if he is some kind of a prince," the Headmaster of Hogwarts gritted through his clenched teeth, still following Black's form with his hateful glare.

"Potter was a good choice, even our lord is interested in recruiting him," Lucius pursed his lips and looked at his friend pointedly.

"When had he managed to meet the Dark Lord?!" Severus hissed, raising his eyebrows in astonishment.

"When said lord burst into my house, seeking my blood, and found Harry instead. He touched him, Severus, he held the boy in his hands and had this look about him..." He shook his head in denial, stubbornly refusing to accept the fact that he would have to share his Harry with the ever demanding and dangerous master.

Scowling at dishearten and angry expression that marred Lucius' beautiful face the potions master heaved a long, deep sigh. "His interest in the boy is a bad sign. However, your jealousy is even worse. Remember what happened the last time the green monster showed its head, hmm? How has our lord punished you? I don't care if the Potter boy dies, what I care about is that you have already made too many mistakes to walk away unscarred this time as well."

Lucius stretched his lips in an unattractive, bitter smile. "You just don't know what it is like to be jealous of our master and somebody else he chooses to entertain himself with, Severus. You don't know what it is like to be jealous of your lover and your master, who sees it as a mere game to take what is yours and ruin it for his own pleasure..."

"Will you ever get over him?" Severus growled, bringing his face very close to his friend's. "You are a grown man, Lucius, it is time to accept the fact that he has no feelings for you and never had. Never put your own preferences and desires above your duty and our cause."

"Perhaps, this time I will finally manage to get over him, as you put it," Lucius grimaced and turned around just as the dance finished. Severus considered him, scowling darkly from behind the curtain of his dark hair, but said nothing. When the dancers spread all over the room again, the two dark wizards parted, walking away from each other in the opposite directions.

Dancing with Astoria wasn't all that difficult and unpleasant as he had anticipated. The young witch was easy to lead and she herself didn't care much for the posture and all the little details that Harry was frantically revising in his head. Having had bowed to her at the end of the waltz he escorted her back to Daphne and left the two girls to gossip with their mother. However, he couldn't find Malfoy anywhere - the place was just too crowded and Harry was certain that should he use magic to locate his boss it would rise more unwanted attention to his already popular persona.

Everybody watched him closely now after he had showed himself a decent dancer, different old witches kept stopping him on his way and asking after his name and his job, as if they were already considering him a candidate for their daughters' hands. Smiling at them nervously and modestly rejecting any of their advances Harry slowly moved closer to the bar, where he hoped to at least get a drink he thought he needed the most now. A light breeze from the widely opened garden doors touched his face and he decided that if he didn't find his boss in the next fifteen minutes he would hide outside and wait for this madness to end.

"Harry, pup, what an unexpected surprise!" His hopes were not going to come true, he concluded bitterly, when a heavy hand of his godfather fell on his shoulder. Harry jerked his own hands away from the glass of wine and turned around to look at Sirius, who was watching him with that unnatural interest in his grey eyes. Again. "You look striking tonight, I must say, I never thought that red could suit you so well."

"Thanks. I am a gryffindor, of course red suits me just fine," Harry smiled, staring around helplessly. He really didn't need to deal with the Resistance business right now - he had enough on his plate already.

"So?" Sirius raised his eyebrows expectantly, "What are you doing here?"

"Working."

"Never thought that dancing with Astoria Greengrass was one of the Malfoy assistant's duties," his godfather chuckled mirthfully and winked at him mischeivously.

"Turns out it is," Harry lifted his shoulders.

The hole situation seemed ridiculous, how could his godfather stand here and talk to him so openly, when they could be discovered any minute? Feeling the sweat run down his back Harry took in a deep, shuddering breath, trying to calm himself down. Wasn't it enough that he had to sneak into Auror's Office once a week, like a criminal, to leave a note with the little information he could disclose? Did he really have to meet them all in public now and pretend that everything was just perfectly fine?

Laughing heartedly Sirius patted him on the arm lovingly and steered him into a secluded corner, "There is somebody I would like you to meet, Harry. A very dear friend of mine." He turned to wave at somebody amidst the crowd, while Harry looked around, seeking the means to escape the company. But before he could slip past the Auror, he was being grabbed by his arm again and pulled to stand closer to his godfather. "Harry, meet Albus Dumbledore, the greatest mage of all the times and a wonderful friend of our family."

By ‘our’ Sirius meant Potters. Raising his eyes slowly Harry swallowed harshly as he took in the sight of the famous light wizard, dressed in bright purple and blue robes, wearing a tall hat, looking very much like Merlin himself could look.

"It is an honour to meet you, sir," he breathed out, suddenly aware of the searching, piercing stare of the pale blue eyes, that all but pinned him down to the ground and Harry had to strain his will to avert his gaze and direct it at Dumbledore's old, wrinkled hands, folded loosely in front of him.

"How good it is to see you, Harry. I never doubted that you would grow up a beautiful and a worthy man, that you are now," the man said softly and Harry felt the irrepressible desire to look up, but resisted it, knowing full well that such sweet tone and kind words were always used with a purpose. "You certainly don't remember me, my boy, the last time we have seen each other you were barely two years old. I held you in my hands and you watched me with these green eyes of yours, that you inherited from Lily. You always were very serious and very curious - a rare combination if you ask me," Dumbledore chuckled.

What was he supposed to say to this? Harry looked around nervously to ask Sirius for help, but his godfather was nowhere to be seen - he had left him face to face with the head of the Resistance and Harry had no idea how was he going to get out of this. "Thank you, sir," he bowed respectfully, still wary to look up and meet the other's eyes.

"I have heard you started working for Lucius Malfoy," Dumbledore continued in the same nonchalant fashion. "I admit I was rather surprised by your choice, however, I believe that you are more than capable of doing any kind of job... Is something bothering you, Harry? You seem rather tensed," he bent down a little and took Harry by the chin to push his head up. Their eyes locked for a second.

"I am simply tired and have a lot of unfinished work, sir," Harry murmured, inwardly readying himself. His suspicions were confirmed - he felt the slight, gentle probing on the surface if his consciousness, almost imperceptible really. But he knew what to expect and couldn't be fooled.

"You are versed in Occlumency I see," the old wizard let go of him with an evident disappointment and befuddlement written on his face. "Are you trying to protect yourself from one of the Death Eaters?"

"No, sir," Harry let out a breath of relief and took a tentative step back, away from him, "I am protecting myself from everybody, who tries to read my mind."

Dumbledore raised his thick, white eyebrows in surprise and opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by Lucius Malfoy, who appeared suddenly behind the boy's back and laid his hands possessively on Harry's shoulders.

"Professor Dumbledore, what a pleasure," Lucius drawled acidly, narrowing his eyes at the old man. He knew it was just a matter of time that he would no doubt seek Harry out and try and talk to him. The young wizard looked scared, but also concentrated. Perhpas, he was able to fight Dumbledore's charisma.

"Lucius, the pleasure is all mine. Excuse me," the old wizard smiled, bowing slightly. "It was very nice to see you, Harry," he winked at him and left, having have merged with the coloured mass of guests.

"I need air," Harry muttered and ran towards the garden doors and outside, onto the dimly lit balcony, hidden underneath the thick, heavy crowns of trees. Holding onto the railing tightly he breathed slowly and deeply, clearing his head and calming down his maddeningly beating heart. Was it fear or was it Malfoy's unusually sensitive touch that made it race so fast? He didn't know, he felt so confused.

"What did he want?" Lucius watched worriedly his pale face, covered in the tiny beads of sweat, his hands clutching on the barrier so hard the veins were showing through, his chest that rose and fell quickly, unsteadily, as if Harry had been running for hours. "Did he say something or... do something?"

"He tried to legilimize me."

It slipped his tongue, he had no intention to tell about this, but... Swaying weakly on his wobbly legs Harry turned around to lean on the rail and looked up at his boss guiltily, waiting for the hammer to fall. His churning stomach only worsened the already catastrophic situation.

He knew that Dumbledore had always been very discreet in his manipulations and that his Legilimency was most cunning and imperceptible. How could Harry have noticed it? He couldn't know Occlumency of course, therefore he couldn't fight the intrusion.

"Am I right to assume that the word ‘tried’ hints that he didn't succeed?"

"Yes," Harry nodded his head, looking into the grey eyes that watched him carefully, but held no weariness or malice in them.

"And how did you manage to throw him off I wonder?" It was indeed good news that the boy could protect his mind, however, something wasn't quite right and he wanted to get to the bottom of this.

"You told me he was one of the three masters of Legilimency from Britain, sir. I, well... I didn't like how familiarly he addressed me, he doesn't look like a trustworthy person... I simply avoided meeting his gaze." He knew his excuse was pathetic, for Malfoy was too intelligent to buy it, but he had no other options left. He couldn't simply admit that he was studying Occlumency.

"I see." Lucius considered his assistant for some time, but Harry kept looking at him so openly, sincerely and faithfully, that he decided to let the matter rest for a while. He planned to recruit the boy and then see to every problem that there was. He had no idea why would Harry need to know how to shield his mind unless he was hiding something, but since there was no evidence at all that the boy was somehow connected with the Resistance he doubted that it was dangerous. Intrigued, that was how he felt now. "You were right to be wary of him, Mr Potter. He is a brilliant and a dangerous manipulator..."

Seeing that his boss wasn't going to say anything in regards of his slip Harry relaxed a little and turned to hang on the rail again, bent down to look into the darkness of the vast garden, that surrounded the manor the ball was held at. They stood in a companionable silence, he could feel the unwavering gaze of the grey eyes on his face, but stubbornly looked away. Malfoy's sweet scent reached his nose and overcame the smell of the flowers that had just recently started blooming, and Harry involuntarily closed his eyes, enjoying it.

Despite the tension in his gut and the tremor of fear and anxiety in his hands he couldn't think of the precarious situation he had found himself in, all his mind was concentrated on were the soft hands squeezing his shoulders... possessively. The very same hands leading him in a dance... gently, lovingly. Blushing at his own thoughts and unexpected desires he realized that he wanted to feel them once again, to touch them and hold them, to be touched and held as well. Physical intimacy was the unknown world to him, the mysterious pleasure he had only read about in books, but never experienced personally. But now he found he wanted it, wanted it with a man.

Soft hooting snapped the both wizards out of their stupor and they raised their heads to see a big barn owl flying low above their heads with a white envelope in its claws. Thinking that it was the usual working correspondence Harry habitually stretched his hand out and caught the letter as the bird hooted once again and took off. Lucius watched impassively how his assistant opened the envelope and took several papers out - it was so easy to get used to not doing anything anymore but to rely on Harry. Perhaps it was wrong of him to do so, perhaps, he was simply getting old and the opportunity to have a helping hand had indeed overcome his common sense...

He saw how Harry's brow had creased and leaned closer to look at the cause of the boy's mortified expression. He held a photograph of young Lily Potter in his hands, the one taken at the Black Lake at Hogwarts - she was smiling brilliantly into the camera and waving her hand at the person behind it. At Harry's heavy, longing sigh he raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"Where did this photograph come from, Mr Potter?"

"My father. I asked him to send me one of my mother's, in which she smiles," Harry explained, staring at the moving picture and caressing it gently with his fingers.

"And why, pray tell me, would you ask for it if you are free to meet your mother every weekend?" he snorted quietly, however, there was no humour behind it, no venom. The boy's reaction was perplexing and unsettling, for he had never seen him so burdened, so sad before and never wished to see again.

"I couldn't remember what does her smile look like."

The words hang in the thick air and stayed there for a while. Lucius thought he had never heard anything more devastating before. Harry looked crushed, he saw the tears gleam slightly in his eyes, held back by the boy's power of will only. How could his mother break his heart, did she even know how much was her son suffering because of her? Lily Potter was the corner stone of Harry's existence, the reason of all of his problems and troubles. His soul's torment so evident in his bright emerald eyes irritated Lucius and he had to pull himself together to not say something he would regret later. If only he could get rid of the annoying witch altogether then he would have been able to have Harry all to himself... Killing her wasn't an option, of course, for it would be all too obvious and would turn the boy into his enemy instead of his friend and comrade. However, he wasn't a Malfoy and a Senior Undersecretary for nothing, was he?

"What would you do to make her happy and free again?"

The question came out of nowhere it seemed and Harry hadn't acknowledged who had asked him. He simply said, "Whatever it takes."

He raised his eyes seconds later, having had realized what happened and met the burning gaze of the pale grey eyes that were so close to his he could see the tiny speckles of black around the pupils.

"I have an idea how to help you with that, Mr Potter." Malfoy stood so close, pressed against his body and Harry could only stare at him helplessly, trying to decipher what was it that the man had in mind.

"Wh-what do I have to do?" His voice trembled traitorously, as his hand clutched on the photograph tighter, crumpling it harshly.

A feral, pleased smile was his answer. "If I help you, Mr Potter, you would do anything I ask of you," Lucius murmured softly, marveling the boy's fresh smell and his closeness. All it took to have him was to simply circle an arm around his waist and possess his lips in a passionate kiss, but he knew the price of patience. The reward would be so much more satisfying and fruitful. "Her safety and freedom would be the pledge of your faithfulness and obedience. What do you say?"

What could Malfoy ask of him really? It was obvious that he had to become a Death Eater to fulfill his part of the bargain. "I would never kill or torture another human being," he whispered quietly but firmly.

"I would never ask anything so horrible of you, Mr Potter," Lucius smiled and the mirthful wrinkles surrounded his eyes, "I can find so many different means to use your unique talents."

"What do you mean by safety and freedom?" Harry asked carefully, searching his boss' eyes that had that kind, delighted look about them again.

"You will see, Mr Potter, you will see," he promised and it took all of his self-control not to touch the lovely face, the red lips, slightly parted in anxiety. What a temptation, what a torture. He stepped away and put on his usual, uncaring mask of a bored aristocrat. "There is still a long evening ahead of us, Mr Potter, please, join me." He gestured his cane in the direction of the noisy ballroom.

Blinking dumbly at the man Harry could only nod his head and comply, and follow Lucius inside. And as they walked around the space, meeting different people, talking politics, economy, gossiping about the others behind their backs and as Harry kept writing all the names and personal details down in his journal, he kept stealing hesitant glances at Malfoy's attractive, pleased face and wondered just why did his boss want to help him? What advantages was he going to gain? Why did he care for the poor Harry Potter and his mother? Was it just his genuinely good nature? Did Malfoy really like him so much he was ready to waste his time and energy to indulge him in his wish? The grey eyes locked with his for a second and Harry caught a glimpse of a small, secret smile, that had barely touched the thin, pale lips, but he had long learned to read the man's face to know it for what it was. Could he really trust Lucius?


	5. Calm before the storm

" _Self-sacrifice enables us to sacrifice other people without blushing." George Bernard Shaw_

 

Harry walked down the narrow, dusty corridor, following Malfoy, whose movements were familiar and relaxed, as if he used to come here very often. Well, if they were friends with Mr Riddle it was only logical for him to feel at ease at this place. The paper hang in torn pieces off of the walls, having had lost its ornament and colour, very much like the skin of the house owner's face. The lights flickered unsteadily, as if the electrical power had been giving out, however, this house was filled with very dark, powerful magic, it didn't need any muggle means of comfort.

It was Monday afternoon and he and Malfoy left the Ministry unusually early, unexpectedly, right after his boss had received a note from Mr Riddle with a demand to bring him, Harry, for a visit. In truth, Harry felt rather nervous about meeting the man again, their last encounter left him confused and a little scared - the maimed wizard was hard to read and understand, he reeked of power and danger. It was only Harry's compassion and determination to show Riddle how little he cared for his injuries that made him come here at all. However, and he laughed at the thought, he doubted he had an option of rejecting the 'invitation'.

"Mr... Riddle wanted to spend some time with you, I will come to fetch you in an hour," Lucius told Harry, when they came to a stop at one of the many doors at the end of the corridor.

Shaking his head at his master's choice of a name Lucius knocked on the dark wood, but nobody answered. He confidently pushed the handle down and entered the big, well lit study, filled with cases, chests, boxes and tables with only books and scrolls and ancient tomes everywhere inside and around them. Harry could hardly see the desk and the chair and the guest sofa amongst them, however, at the sight of so many books his heart had skipped its beat, for none of them were familiar to him. Just like Malfoy's library this place held the countless treasures he dearly wished to put his hands on.

"What does he need his elves for if he never lets them deal with this mess," Lucius muttered grudgingly, pushing the books out of his way with the tips of his shiny shoes.

The notion that such dangerous, powerful dark wizards could be so ordinary, familiar in their friendship made Harry smile involuntarily. It was yet another evidence that they all - dark and light and in between - were human beings and very similar to each other, no matter how hard they tried to be anything but.

"It seems that Mr Riddle isn't here, sir," he told his boss, coming closer to one of the shelves and staring at the withered writings on the cracked spines in wonder.

"I know where to find him. Stay here, Mr Potter," Lucius said, looking at him intently, inwardly asking himself once again if it hadn't been a mistake to bring Harry here. He had written to his lord right after they came back from the ball about one particular idea of his and now it was obvious that Voldemort wished to hear it out before meeting the boy.

Seeing that Harry had lost interest to reality, immersing himself into admiration of the books, Lucius left him and apparated straight into the hall, where the Death Eaters' meetings were usually held. And just as he thought the Dark Lord was waiting for him there, sitting on his throne and paging through a journal.

"Did you bring the boy with you?" Voldemort asked not looking up at the wizard, who he knew was already on his knees.

"Yes, my lord. He is in your study."

"Splendid. Now, what was that idea of yours?" he drawled and finally graced Lucius with his glance. The blonde watched him warily, uncertainly and Voldemort found he both enjoyed and disliked it.

Lucius frowned and stood up gracefully, not waiting for his master's sign. "When are you going to tell him the truth? To reveal your true identity?"

"It is a very annoying habit of yours to answer my questions with your own," Voldemort sighed in exasperation and pointedly turned his head to look into his journal again. "I asked you, be so kind to give me an answer and then we will see about everything else."

"I have found a way to recruit Harry," he grimaced and walked aside to stand at the window that looked at the small muggle village. "Yesterday at the ball he met Dumbledore and I believe we have to act quickly now, for as much as I have understood their conversation didn't go like the old coot has anticipated. He might be looking for a way of getting closer to the boy and influencing him."

"Is that so? Do tell," Voldemort glanced at Lucius' stubbornly averted face and smiled to himself, rolling his eyes at the man's fretfulness. His awful temper and selfish personality were what he liked him for so much and were, most probably, the main reason he was still alive after having had made so many mistakes in the course of his long servitude.

"Harry said he was wary of him and wasn't comfortable with his familiarity. I hadn't heard much, I can't say." He decided he would keep the matter of the boy's Occlumency skills to himself for now. If Voldemort found out on his own he would simply say he never knew, if he didn't - he would bring it up after they mark Harry. "As for the means of swaying him to our side, after almost two months of living and working with him I realized he is rather indifferent to magic and doesn't really care for the eternal battle of Light and Dark. However, Harry is too smart and kindhearted to be seduced by the fruits of power, which, as you have undoubtedly noticed, he has in abundance himself. I found his only weakness on which I have already played. He had practically agreed to become a Death Eater in exchange for resolving the matter of his mother's unhappiness."

"Can't you just kill the witch and be done with it? It would also help Severus to finally sober up," the Dark Lord offered lazily, throwing the journal behind his throne and shifting to sit more comfortably.

"This wretched woman is not just a weakness, it is his sore spot, the corner stone... Her death is the opposite of what he desires," Lucius pushed his hand into his hair and brushed it back, carelessly and tiredly - a gesture he would have never allowed himself to demonstrate in front of anybody, even his family. But his master was a completely different matter altogether. Leaning against the wall he turned to look into the dark red, piercing eyes, that watched him expectantly. "If you would allow me to move both Potters abroad and leave them alive and healthy to go on with their petty lives far away from Harry, he would take the Mark and would serve you."

Voldemort narrowed his eyes at the wizard, thoughtfully rubbing on his dry, thin lips with his clawed fingers. "Elaborate."

"Both Potter have always been very close to Dumbledore, I know that for certain and Severus could write a novel about it. If the mudblood has ceased participating in any of the Order's activities, Potter never had. We don't have the evidence that both he and Black are the members of the Resistance, however, you and I know very well that they are, my lord. I haven't thought about dealing with Black yet, since he is still the head of the family and both Narcissa and Bella depend on him. But," he raised his finger, pushing himself off of the wall and walking back into the center of the room, "If we put Potter abroad, back to his master, we would weaken the Resistance and we might even provoke Black to make a mistake because of that. If we put both Potters there then Harry would not have anybody to hold on to anymore, since he doesn't have any friends. He wishes for his mother to be free again, let's indulge him, but cut their ties altogether."

"And has he agreed to that?" Voldemort raised his bald eyebrows, pondering over everything he had heard.

"I haven't told him the plan yet, I wanted to ask you first, my lord," Lucius said and came closer to rearrange his master's long, raven hair that got tangled again. He gently stroked the thick, soft locks, marveling their texture and held the other's heavy gaze, used to being watched so intently.

Grabbing on one of the weak, groomed hands and holding it tightly in his Voldemort sighed, "I understand what you are planning to do. It would have been much easier to simply kill them both, in my opinion... I will talk to the boy first and then will tell you of my decision. Bring Severus with you when you come back, Lucius, I need another batch of potions."

"Of course, my lord," he murmured, squeezing the cold, veined hand in his. He bent down to kiss it and held his lips pressed against the white, soft skin for a very long time, unable to resist the temptation and the opportunity to be close to his master while he could.

After Voldemort's experiment had gone wrong his already horrible temper worsened and he was rarely capable of simply communicating with his followers - the permanent pain he had to live with clouded his mind and turned him into an unbearable, sadistic psychopath. More often than not Lucius was too afraid to even look at him, for his gaze could be taken wrong. It wasn't his master's intention to be so bitter and harsh, unfair - he found it hard to control his emotions every time his condition worsened. Lucius moved to kiss the knuckles of the fingers, barely holding back weak moans of longing and desperate need. How long had it been, how long...

"Lucius..." Voldemort hissed tiredly, pulling his hand away gently and took the wizard by his jaw, digging the long fingernails deep into his skin, "Do not forget yourself. Go now." He placed a featherlight kiss on Malfoy's forehead and pushed him away completely.

"Yes, my lord," Lucius breathed out, stumbling backwards, panting slightly. He apparated away, afraid he would spoil everything in a bout of wild desire that was clawing on his chest.

He could never resist his master, no matter what he looked like, no matter how cruel or cold he was towards him. He hated and adored him, feared him and at the same time enjoyed to simply be next to him... Everything about the great warlock and his feelings towards him seemed wrong and twisted, but he would have never exchanged it for anything else.

Watching the other vanish into the thin air Voldemort could only shake his head at the man's torment. Forever trapped in a snare of his own lust and emotional vulnerability Lucius was his most trusted and faithful follower, who could never betray him, and yet he sometimes hated the beautiful wizard so terribly it took all of his self-discipline to not kill him. The intelligent and cunning man that he was Lucius could be so easily blinded by the other's beauty and affection, it was inadmissible. He often wondered how was the wizard capable of falling in love with so many different people who, in all honesty, never deserved to be even looked at. Harry, however...

Harry was very special to Lucius, and Voldemort knew very well why. Slowly walking to his study, for he still was too weak to apparate, he mused of the lovely assistant, smiling cruelly to himself. Harry reminded the blond wizard of his own master, only he was Voldemort's complete opposite, the other side of his coin. He had to admit they did share a lot in common, the boy even looked a lot like him, with that pale skin of his, wild, raven hair, thin, delicate frame and piercing, beautiful eyes. Yes, Harry was a striking young man, just like he once used to be and Lucius fell for him instantly. Intelligent, powerful, alluring - Harry had all the traits necessary to hook up the hungry for flesh Lord Malfoy. Was he the only one who saw right through the Resistance's plot? It was so obvious that they chose the boy specifically for Lucius...

Sighing wearily and thinking irritably that he was going to once again forgive the lustful idiot his mistake Voldemort entered his study and looked around - the boy stood at one of the cases, seemingly hypnotized by one particularly dark book he knew was kept there. "Do you feel it pulling on you, Harry?"

Harry jerked at the sound of the familiar raspy voice and stared at Riddle, who looked even uglier in the natural daylight, without his outer robe and heavy hood. His now sickeningly grey, mutilated face was surrounded by a halo of tangled raven hair, that were so long and disheveled, it seemed its master had simply forgotten how to look after it. Perhaps, he simply did not care anymore, now that his appearance couldn't be really improved.

"Yes, sir."

The black leather book had been tempting Harry for the last ten minutes and he had to fight its call as hard as he could, for he knew the price one had to pay for the knowledge hidden in such editions - they usually took blood from the curious wizard, and sometimes there were even accidental deaths. No matter how strong his desire to look inside it was, he had no wish to leave his finger there.

"I see you were a good boy and didn't touch anything," Voldemort noted, sitting down on the sofa and patting the free spot beside him for Harry to sit on.

"Books are sacred, sir, I would have never touched them without your permission…" Harry widened his eyes when Riddle took a few tomes, that were scattered over the sofa and threw them carelessly onto the floor behind it.

"Don't give me that look, Harry, everything is magically preserved from damage in this house," Voldemort smiled wryly and patted on the pillows again. "Join me."

Harry tentatively stepped closer and lowered himself on the edge of the old, tattered, but very expensive sofa and looked around once again. He couldn't imagine how old most of the books were, half of them were probably illegal. "May I ask you something, sir?" he addressed the wizard, who kept watching him just as intently and carefully as before.

"You may," Voldemort relaxed, draping his long, horribly thin body over the pillows and looking at the boy expectantly.

"Does this house... Is the magic, that keeps everything here secured, linked to yours?" Harry couldn't help but look at Riddle with admiration. He must have been very powerful and very inventive to manage to accomplish such a feat.

Seeing the sincere curiousness and admiration in the emerald eyes Voldemort wondered how much the boy was involved. "Yes, you are quite right."

"This is astonishing, sir!" he breathed out excitedly. "However," Harry's face suddenly fell and he looked at Riddle sadly, "You are very sick, aren't you, sir? Forgive me for prying and being impolite. I shouldn't find astonishment in something that hurts your health," he hang his head low, berating himself for being an ignorant idiot.

This was what confused him so much about Harry Potter and what had, certainly, fooled Lucius - the boy's personality. His shyness, modesty, kindness and compassion were the completely opposite qualities to those that a spy was supposed to possess. Harry's self-berating blush and guiltily folded hands made Voldemort stare at him in wondrous amusement. This wasn't acting, he knew, it was impossible to feign all the specter of these deep, complex emotions that reflected on the lovely face as if it was a distorted mirror. If he hadn't known, he would have never believed that Harry could work for Lucius – the idea seemed simply ridiculous.

"It is alright, Harry, the mere notion that you feel sorry for me amends all your mistakes, even though there were none. Tell me how do you like working for Malfoy?"

There was interest in the cold, dark eyes, and Riddle's posture wasn't as hostile and tensed as before. Perhaps, he felt more at ease now that he knew Harry, or, perhaps, he simply felt more comfortable at home, on his territory.

"I like it very much," Harry admitted honestly, grateful he didn't have to lie. "I never dreamed of a job of assisting to somebody, but the work I do for Mr Malfoy is mostly very interesting. I found I knew very little of our government and political system, of the Dark Lord's work."

"Oh, and what do you think about him?" Voldemort smiled, intrigued to hear Harry's opinion of himself.

"Well, I can't really speak of somebody I don't know," he offered carefully, meeting the other's curious gaze. "However, I think many have formed a wrong opinion about him, which is being spread amongst us. I... I grew up with a notion that he is a heartless, ruthless murderer," Harry murmured hesitantly, suddenly uncomfortable to discuss the Dark Lord with one of his followers so openly.

"Do not worry, Harry, you may speak freely, I am not a Death Eater and I couldn't care less for negative opinions on the man," Voldemort chuckled hoarsely, watching the boy mirthfully.

Who the hell was this wizard then? His name spoke volumes about him, Harry thought, staring at him, puzzled.

"Well, I... I think I was misguided and after I had learned so much about his work I see I was wrong to think of him so unfairly. However, his methods have always been and still are very cruel, violent... I can't say I can accept that. I understand the motives, the idea behind them, but still, I believe there is a way of winning and conquering people's trust and loyalty without killing, torturing, hurting..." he trailed off shyly, doubting that his childish, romantic view of the world would interest somebody like Riddle.

"Unfortunately, violence is the only way, Harry. There is no other alternative for human kind. We have developed ourselves so highly, we have become so intelligent and cunning and perceptive, that only something very primitive, something that we are naturally born with can put us back into our places, can control us. Blood. Death. Pain. It is indeed easy and pleasant to dream of peace in the whole world, to imagine how attentive people would be to what you have to say, how open and welcoming they would be to your rather ambitious and innovative ideas... Only it never happens in the real life. They never listen, they hate changes and if you can't pay them - and it is never enough to sate their greediness - you have to scare them to death."

"You are talking from experience, aren't you, sir?" Harry tilted his head to the side in wonder and looked at the wizard curiously.

Could he be the one who stood by the Dark Lord's side when the war started? Perhaps, he was the author of most legislations and bills? It wasn't unheard of, quite the opposite, it was practiced widely in the muggle world. But who was he, if his experience was so vast and his powers were so great and yet he didn't bear a Mark?

The boy's suddenly serious, understanding gaze of the bright, intelligent eyes intrigued Voldemort. The young wizard was indeed perceptive and very well tuned to his magic - he felt uncharacteristically comfortable around him, though, being so powerful, he could never be in a harmony with himself in somebody else's presence. Harry was truly unique.

"I do. Politics is an unrewarding business, that mostly consists of trying to work out a way through the darkness of other's ignorance of the subject,” he huffed, raising his bald eyebrows sarcastically and closed his eyes, mourning how lonely he was in his eternal battle with idiocy.

Harry perked up at the last words, creasing his brow at their sudden familiarity to him... He had read them in the mysterious journal from which he learned Occlumency and spells, hadn't he? Could it really be? He looked up at Riddle, blinking often, feeling suddenly agitated. If he thought about it: how else could such an intimate journal find its way into Malfoy's library? Riddle could very well be much older than Lucius, his injuries left his face ageless. Besides, if he was truly the author of the journal, then he could have very well found the way to stay young forever - there were mentions of his desire to become immortal…

But if it was him, then he was a master of Legilimency as well, and should he try and read Harry's mind he would instantly recognize his own technique of shielding. Feeling the shivers run down his spine and his legs go numb Harry caught his breath, suddenly feeling ashamed, very much like a criminal facing his victim. He used this man's work so carelessly, he took it all for granted. And here he was in front of him, maimed and half dead after everything he had gone through.

Voldemort sensed the shift in the air and glanced at the boy questioningly. "Is something wrong, Harry?"

"No, sir," Harry smiled, feeling so overwhelmed he wanted to run out of the room and never come back, but he felt he couldn't move - frozen by fear he sat and watched the books around him dumbly. His legs felt like stones, that were dragging him down to the ground.

He was too weak for Legilimency yet and the boy was certainly frightened. What was the cause of his sudden fear, anxiety? "Tell me more about yourself, Harry," he offered, narrowing his eyes at the pale face, that bore the signs of helplessness and... shame?

"Oh, I don't think there is anything to tell really, Mr Riddle," he lifted his shoulders, folding his hands modestly over his knees. "I am the most ordinary person in the world, at least I always used to think so of myself."

"You are a wizard, therefore you are already out of ordinary," Voldemort hissed quietly, making Harry turn his head and look up at him. Despite being frightened and nervous the boy still looked sincere to him, if a little embarrassed. He couldn't for the life of him fathom what did it mean. "As Lucius'... friend, I can assure you that he doesn't associate himself with ordinary or boring people, he grew up being surrounded only by them. Which leads me to a conclusion that you are a curious personage."

Harry blushed again, shy of his praise now. Laughing inwardly he shook his head at the boy's sensitivity and impressiveness. And despite all these the young wizard had managed to keep his mind sharp and kept improving himself constantly. Harry Potter was made solely out of contradictions and riddles.

"Thank you, sir. However, I am afraid both you and Mr Malfoy overestimate me, dramatically," Harry lowered his gaze, smiling modestly. His fear was slowly subsiding as he kept breathing steadily and kept telling himself he wasn't going to fuck it up. Riddle was too weak physically to legilimize him - this rational thought helped him pull himself together.

"And what of your parents, do they overestimate you as well?" Voldemort crossed his legs and leaned a little closer, watching the boy's every move, every tiny transition in his expression: the palpitating of the eyelashes, the quivering corners of his red lips...

Harry's smile faltered as he remembered the last evening and the photograph of his mother, that now lay in the drawer of his desk, still crumpled. "No. I don't think they really care for my achievements. I didn't become an Auror and they are not really interested in anything else, I suppose."

"Ah, you refused to follow in your father's footsteps? Why? It was my understanding you excelled at every subject at Hogwarts." The way he spoke of his parents didn't show the concern for their happiness, that Lucius had told him about.

"I did. They... Ah, I never showed them my diploma, told them I didn't get the necessary high marks to be allowed to pass the Auror examinations," Harry murmured almost incomprehensibly, twisting his fingers. He had never told about it to anybody else but Hermione, who had, of course, supported him in his decision. Whatever compelled him to confess to Riddle, of all people?

"Did you?" He was genuinely surprised to hear that. Who would have done something like that in his sane mind, when young men and women were ready to kill each other to work in the Auror Division. And yet here sat Harry Potter, who lied to his own family to avoid being dragged there and forced to become an officer. "I can't understand why," he shook his head in befuddlement.

Harry shrugged his shoulders and looked up shyly, "I wanted to make my own choice, sir. I wanted to watch and learn and find something that would suit me better."

Seeing how perplexed Riddle looked, though it was hard to decipher such an expression on his distorted face, Harry couldn't resist smiling at him humorously. Coming in terms with the idea that this man used to be the boy, who wrote the genius journal he realized that now he had a unique opportunity to actually talk to him, not through the written words, but personally, had the opportunity to learn even more from him, if he would let him of course. The notion brought him joy and sudden lightness to his heart. He knew very well how dark and cruel Riddle must have been, if he was the creator of all those horrible, prohibited spells and curses, but he was a man after all. A simple man, just like Lucius, just like Harry himself was. A man, blessed with brilliant mind and enormous power. A man who suffered the consequences of possessing such gifts.

"Does working for the dark wizards suit you better?"

Why was the boy smiling at him warmly now, when only mere moments ago he was practically having a panic attack? The hurricane of emotions that Harry was going through was truly overwhelming.

"It is the intent that makes us different, not the colour of our magic," he told Riddle, tucking his hair behind his ears. It grew so long, but Harry hesitated to cut it and now was constantly battling with the unruly locks when he felt nervous. "As long as the wizard is a decent person I don't care what kind of magic he practices."

"Wise words for such a young man," Voldemort praised him. "However, you can't deny that the new government's policy is based on terror and violence, which you are so averse to. Isn't that a significant disadvantage, doesn't it reduce the... level of decency you are looking for?"

"Violence is the main and, probably, the only reason I find significant enough to... Disagree with the Dark Lord," Harry murmured thoughtfully, frowning, as he rubbed his hands together, watching his thin fingers tremble ever so slightly. "Perhaps, I am simply weak, perhaps, I am simply a coward, but I would never accept it, never."

He considered the boy as they sat in unexpectedly companionable silence, even though it was obvious that the subject of their discussion made Harry uncomfortable. Was he even aware of what was he going to face, when he agreed to spy on Lucius? Could Harry Potter have been forced into the affair? Tricked?

"Are there any other reasons you dislike the Dark Lord's regime?"

Harry looked up at the maimed wizard fearfully, uncertainly and shook his head, "No."

"I really hate it when people lie to me, Harry," Voldemort smiled crookedly and brought his face very close to the boy's, as his long, tangled, raven hair fell off of his shoulders, brushing against Harry's hands. "Why, you should not be afraid to be sincere, I am not going to punish you for speaking your mind."

"It is not the subject you, as a pureblood, would find reasonable, sir."

He had never felt so insecure in his life before. The sheer magnificence, the genius of the man, who sat so close to him, turned Harry's head. How could he so naively waste the wizard's time with his pathetic whining? Why was Riddle even talking to him at all? Why was so adamant to know where Harry's loyalties and interests lay? Too many questions with no answers - Harry felt trapped.

"Ah," Voldemort feigned that the guess dawned upon him, "Perhaps, you mean your mother's situation?" He pulled away to give the boy more space, but kept firmly holding his gaze. He could read him even without Legilimency. "Do you not approve of the way the muggleborns are treated?"

Trying as hard as he could to avert his eyes, but feeling it to be physically impossible Harry swallowed harshly and jerked his head awkwardly, suddenly aware that he was all alone in Riddle's company, surrounded by his magic, with no Lucius here to protect him.

"I see," Voldemort smiled coldly. "Would you care to elaborate? I do not have any muggleborn acquaintances of mine," he offered nonchalantly, leaning his elbows on his thin, angular knee and resting his chin on his tightly folded hands.

"Why... Why would you want to know this, sir?" Harry was terribly confused now, he couldn't for the life of him understand the motive behind Riddle's actions and words.

He realized that Lucius liked him and that was a reason enough for the blond wizard to help Harry and care for him, but this man was a true enigma. Harry doubted Riddle liked him, he doubted he could be of any interest to him at all.... Who was he in comparison to the brilliant warlock in front of him? Dangerous, the situations in which he didn't know how to behave himself were truly dangerous.

"I am naturally curious," he chuckled hoarsely, "Knowledge is everything, Harry, even the most insignificant piece might be very useful in the future. Knowledge is power, just as precious as magic."

Harry squeezed the hem of his robe in his fists, staring into the dark red eyes, that were void of any emotion - they were simply dissecting him like an insect in a laboratory experiment. "It is difficult to explain, sir," he started uncertainly, "I can't really blame the Dark Lord's regime for what has happened to her."

"Tell me about your mother, Harry," Voldemort murmured, "Tell me what is it that torments you so much? Wizards of your age and origin are not supposed to struggle with such a burden upon their souls."

Despite the compassionate phrasing Harry felt no emotion behind the words, nothing but a cold and patient interest. Riddle was incapable of sympathizing with others - that much was obvious from the journal he had written at the tender age of sixteen or seventeen... A boy who had tortured his housemates with the Legilimency experiments, a boy who had crafted a curse that could peel the skin off of the body, layer after layer, causing the victim horrible, unbearable pain... Of course he wasn't able to feel anything, all that was left for him was his curiosity and hunger for knowledge. Harry bit on his lower lip, as his heart bled for Riddle - he felt so sorry for him, felt a desperate need to help him, although he had no idea how could he really...

"She was branded like a criminal sir," Harry exhaled shakily, "And I can't understand why. It isn't her fault she was born magical to two muggle parents... She is prohibited to use her magic, she is confined to our house and she is very much dead already. Hollow on the inside, like a porcelain doll." He closed his eyes and hang his head down, twisting his fingers hard to not let his anger control his tongue. "This is what I blame the Dark Lord for, that he turned her life into a nightmare... However..." He took a deep, calming breath and let it out slowly. "However, she had a choice before it all happened. She could run away, abroad, she shouldn't have married James, but she did. Father could have rejected fighting against the Dark and taken us away as well - he didn't. And now..."

"And now you feel it is your fault they suffer?" Voldemort finished for him.

Looking up at Riddle Harry nodded sadly. "If it wasn't for me, perhaps, she would have never married him after all, or would have found enough courage to run. And ever since I went to Hogwarts she has grown cold towards me. I think... I don't really know how, but I make her torment only worse. She... She doesn't love me or she is incapable of feeling love anymore. I wish I could change that..."

There it was, what Lucius had told him about, the pain in the bright green eyes that turned their colour slightly darker, deeper. Guilt. The boy blamed himself, not the Dark Lord. Voldemort rubbed on his dry, cracked lips, pondering over the motivation that Harry could have found to risk his life and spy on them. The ever cunning Lucius had made up a truly efficient plan to pay the Resistance back. If only the idiot knew that he had...

"What would you do to make your mother happy and free again?"

The question was so sudden and unexpected that Harry froze in surprise and anxiety.

"Whatever it takes," he breathed out, unable to look away from the dark, piercing eyes. Did Riddle know of the deal that Malfoy had almost offered him? Was it a coincidence he asked him the very same question? No, Harry didn't believe in coincidences. Riddle must have known somehow...

"It is not the Dark Lord who is the cause of her grief. Even free to do as she pleases she would still be unhappy in our world. With you." He looked at the boy pointedly. "You see, Harry, you have grown up an intelligent, independent man, therefore you are able to see for yourself how actually beneficial and strong our society became, how much have our lives improved after we were secluded from muggles completely. You, as a half-blood, can see how much your parents lost by making the wrong choice in the past. That is why your mother can't accept you, doesn't want to accept you." Voldemort leaned closer again and whispered into Harry's face, "You are tainted to her now. Tainted by the freedom we took from her and gave to you instead."

Blinking often Harry stared at Riddle's distorted, torn face in fear and shock. How could he know? He never told Lucius about that and yet the maimed wizard knew what exactly had his mother told him. Tainted by the Dark, wasn't he? With all those rebellious, selfish thoughts he had been fighting so hard... It was their influence, the influence of their multifarious education.

"But I am not a dark wizard!"

"Of course not," Voldemort let out a low chuckle. He smelled sweet fruits in Harry's breath, that brushed against his sensitive, scarred skin - so close they were to each other. "However, for those who oppose us and hate us there is no difference," he sighed tiredly and moved away sharply to lean back into the pillows again. "Your mother doesn't appreciate how well and generously you are treated, despite her blood polluting yours... It is something you should stop blaming yourself for, Harry. As you said, it wasn't her fault she was born to muggles - nor it is yours that you were born to her. You have the right to have a better future, since every opportunity is open to you." He lifted his shoulders up carelessly and concentrated on his long, sharp fingernails, feigning boredom.

The very same thoughts had been circulating in his mind more often than he was ready to admit and Harry blushed in embarrassment and guilt and anger at himself, at his and the regime's hypocrisy - neither Lily nor he chose their parents and lives and yet their chances to have the better future were not equal.

"You are not tainted, Harry." He looked up and met the red eyes that were suddenly a tiniest shade lighter, warmer in their colour, in their expression. "If you stay true to yourself and don't listen to your parents' opinion you would never become tainted, I am certain of that."

He didn't know what compelled him to encourage the boy: his heartbroken look of a scolded puppy or his unshed tears, welled up in the brilliantly green eyes of his, or was it his impossibly sappy story? Frowning to himself, Voldemort wondered why hadn't been any kind of significant, vital information passed on to the Resistance yet. Either Harry was a poor excuse of a spy or he simply didn't want to set Lucius up? Ridiculously he was inclined to believe the latter. It was plausible that Lucius was the only person, who had actually acknowledged Harry for his talents and his personality, praised him and didn't hide his admiration, and for that the boy was so grateful, valued that so much - he was ready to betray his own to pay Lucius back for his kindness. Unable to resist the urge Voldemort snorted to himself. Contradictions and riddles, riddles and contradictions - this was what Harry Potter was made of and he couldn't help but find that he loved it. The young wizard excited him.

"I am afraid I took too much of your precious time, Harry," he purred pleasantly and rose up from the sofa. There was a slight shift in the wards of the house - Lucius and Severus apparated into the hall. "You should go back to your duties, otherwise Lucius would throw a tantrum. You do know you have spoiled him horribly, don't you?" he hissed through rasp half chuckles, half coughs.

"Spoiled?" Harry also stood up, watching Riddle in confusion. What was it with this wizard, why did he have to affect Harry so every time they met, make his insides churn in fright and excitement, make his heart skip its beats in horror and admiration? How could he have understood him so well when he barely knew him?

"He became so lazy because of you, it seems to me he doesn't do anything anymore - all the hard work is on your rather thin shoulders." A genuine humorous smile tagged on the corners of his mouth as he walked over to one of the cases and pulled a thick, tattered tome out of the stack. "Here," he held it out to the befuddled boy, "I will lend you this book until our next meeting. It is going to be soon, so be quick to read it."

Astonished Harry gratefully accepted the thick, old tome, cladded in red and gold. "Thank you, sir, you shouldn't have, I don't deserve it..." he said before his gaze fell on the title. The House of Potter. Harry read it again and again, trying to understand why was this book in Riddle's possession.

"No, no, you have asked me the first we met, Harry, and I couldn't really tell you anything, since I personally knew only one of your ancestors. And rather briefly, I have to admit. You must be wondering where did I find it - at one of the book sales that were put up long before you were born, when your family lost its fortune and had to sell everything to pay their debts. It was a rather nice deal, I paid only a few galleons for this one," Voldemort said teasingly, tilting his head to the side and watching Harry's wonderfully flushed face.

"How can I thank you for this, sir?" Harry looked up at him uncertainly, clutching the book close to his chest.

Pretending to think about it, Voldemort twirled a lock of his hair between his fingers, as he offered the boy a small, ugly smile. "Read it and return it in time, this would be a payback enough. You are a Potter after all, it is rather unfair to not share the knowledge collected by the long line of your ancestors, preserved for your father and you. Now, wait here while I find Lucius for you."

Harry stared after the tall figure, that disappeared behind the door, and dropped himself back on the sofa. Who the hell was Riddle? He couldn't understand the mysterious wizard, for the life of him he couldn't! He had read his journal, he felt as if he knew him for a lifetime and yet there was absolutely no certainty about him, there was no way Harry could predict his actions, no way he could guess how his mind worked. He looked back at the book in his hands - here it was the history of his family, given to him by his supposed enemy. Why was his life so oddly entwined with darkness?

xxx

"I approve of your plan, Lucius," Voldemort drawled as he walked into the hall and towards his throne, barely glancing at the two wizards who stood at the window, talking quietly.

"My lord?" Lucius smiled, kneeling before his master, but the corners of his mouth fell when he caught Severus' confused, calculating stare. He doubted the potions master would take the news well.

"Rise, both of you," he waved his hand weakly at them and held it out with his palm open before Severus. The headmaster of Hogwarts instantly produced a small box of potions from his inner pocket and passed it on to his lord. "I had a long and a pleasant conversation with Harry and I found out everything I needed to consider your offer, Lucius. You may act freely, use whatever means you find necessary," he said carelessly as he inspected the vials. Satisfied, he closed the box and vanished it out of sight.

"My lord, may I inquire what plan are you talking about and what does it have to do with me? I would very much prefer to never have to deal with Potter," Severus hissed, spatting the name as if it was something foul and atrocious.

"Now, now, Severus, were you not the one who wrote him his brilliant reference? Such a shame his parents, and the whole world for that matter, never saw it," Voldemort laughed cruelly, coughing harshly into his fist.

Raising his eyebrows in a mild surprise Lucius looked up at both his friend and his lord, "Potters never saw his reference?"

"Did you honestly believe that had James Potter seen it he would still have let his son to work at the bloody bookshop?" Severus sneered venomously at him. "When I heard where has the brat ended up after Hogwarts I instantly knew he never showed his diploma to anybody, perhaps, has even disguised it to look like Weasley's to never ever pass into Auror program."

"Astonishing, isn't it, Licius?" Voldemort hissed, rubbing on his sore throat gently. "It would have been just as dull and poor at your interview hadn't you installed those wards against compromised documents..."

"What kind of family is it, I wonder, that he wishes to safe so much..." Lucius shook his head in sad astonishment, talking more to himself than to anybody else.

"I wondered about it as well... As for you, Severus," the Dark Lord turned to peer at the potions master, whose sour face couldn't look more ridiculous, "You have nothing to do with our plan of making Harry Potter a Death Eater. Like good old Samaritans we have simply decided that you deserved to be warned beforehand." He chuckled at his own mugglish joke, that only a half-blood like Snape could understand, and relaxed back in his seat, watching the two wizards lazily. "Lucius will move both Potters abroad and cut their ties with the boy altogether. You will never see or hear from your beloved mudblood again, unless, of course, you would prefer to stalk her all around the world."

"Potter a Death Eater?! Abroad?!" Lost Severus looked between the two men in shock, failing at keeping his mask of impassiveness on his face.

Seeing that the talk with the potions master was going to be long and hard Voldemort sighed tiredly and addressed Lucius, "Go now, there is nothing you can do here anymore. Harry is waiting in my study. Do bring the boy here after he agrees to be turned. I will give him his first test."

"Yes, my lord."

What kind of a test would it be, Lucius wondered as he apparated to the study and opened the door to find Harry slumped on the sofa, immersed into the book. The sight of his assistant with that lovely frown of concentration on his face made him brush all the annoying thoughts away. Now that he was free to get rid of the Potters for good, it was only a matter of days until Harry was going to be completely at his mercy. Once the boy's parents were safe, Lucius would finally get his reward.

"My lord, please, enlighten me," Severus scowled as he bent his back in a low, submissive bow.

"Tell me what do you think of Harry Potter, Severus? Honestly. Lucius isn't here to hear you," Voldemort offered, as he smoothed the invisible wrinkles on his robe, crossed his legs and tilted his head to the side.

Snape was such a terribly difficult person to communicate with, yet he was the most intelligent and perceptive of all of his servants. Unlike Lucius he couldn't be easily fooled by the beauty and allure of another, didn't have any weaknesses despite one red haired mudblood of a witch. Voldemort liked Snape, but the man's temper and unpleasant attitude annoyed him just as much as it annoyed everybody else.

"I don't trust him," Severus growled, pacing impatiently from one corner of the hall to another. "He is not a gryffindor, my lord. He is a slytherin through and through, I wouldn't be surprised if he had somehow convinced the Hat to put him into the wrong house only to please his parents. Always quiet, secretive, always a few steps ahead of everyone... He was the best student of his every year and he had never once acknowledged it! The sheer talent in the spell crafting and curses!" He spread his hands helplessly and folded them tightly behind his back, lifting his tensed shoulders up. "I warned Lucius to not trust him. His angelic face and innocent attitude are a rather masterfully created disguise. The boy tricked me more than once, as much as I hate to admit this..."

"Do you think he is a spy?" Voldemort picked on his fingernails, seemingly ignorant to other's anxiety.

"I can't say without legilimizing him, there is no evidence. But that doesn't mean he is harmless, he might be just laying low and waiting for us to let our guard down," Severus wrinkled his nose in disdain.

He laughed coldly and propped his head on his curled palm. "Your intuition didn't betray you, my dear Severus." At the potions master's questioning, uncertain gaze he huffed, "Harry was sent by the Resistance to spy on our beloved Lucius."

"Has he confessed to you, master?!" Severus exclaimed, having had stopped at his lord's side and staring at him wondrously.

"No. I just know Lucius' taste," he smiled wryly. "It is obvious to me that the boy was specifically chosen by, most probably, Black, since he visits Malfoys often and must have studied Lucius' habits and lovers thoroughly to find such a perfect candidate as our lovely Harry..."

"But you are still going to turn him? Why?!" Severus gave his master a dumb look, crossing his arms over his chest.

"This will be a little secret of ours, Severus. I wish to make Harry my servant and use him against the Resistance. As you have correctly noted there is no evidence he had given any important information away - because he never did and never would," Voldemort explained, watching the dark wizard intently. "Our Harry is so kindhearted and generous in his affection for Lucius, who is probably the only person that treats him well, that he is ready to betray his own to not let his employer down. As ridiculous as it may sound - it is still true. Harry became a spy solely to help his mother, who, as he blindly believes, suffers because of him. He said he would do whatever it takes to free her from underneath my reign. Lucius has come up with an idea of sending both Potters abroad - I admit I still think simply killing them would be more efficient, but you know, you would suffer so much if we killed that mudblood if yours..." he cackled cruelly, as Severus shuddered almost imperceptibly at the mere possibility.

"Why do you think the boy wouldn't betray you, master?"

He felt a sharp pang in his heart at the thought that he might never see Lily again, even though he had barely caught a glimpse of her during these long sixteen years, or was it seventeen already? Lily seeing her son off to school at King's Cross, Lily getting her monthly check up at St Mungo's, Lily at the Ministry's hearing to prolong her license... She had always avoided even looking at him, let alone speaking to him... And he had once dreamed of marrying her and having a child...

"Because there is nothing that holds him on the light side beside his dear parents, who, as it seems, care very little for their own son. Because here, with us, he would receive the recognition and respect he deserves and secretly wishes for, even if he doesn't really realize it yet." Voldemort stood up and walked over to the window to look at the already dark, starry sky. "No one would suspect Harry Potter of actually serving the Dark and spying for me, if he would pretend to spy for the Resistance. Only the four of us would know of his true loyalties. However," he turned to look at Snape, who was listening to him intently, "Don't tell Lucius that Harry was sent to spy on him. Let him find out on his own eventually - his broken heart and great disappointment would be his punishment."

He smiled viciously and turned back to admiring the view outside. The late spring was particularly warm and pleasant this year and he wondered if he could take a walk in the garden. He had been so weak lately, others' blood was of little help for his regenerating process...

"Is it really necessary to move Potters?" Severus asked tentatively, knowing very well that this was a better alternative to killing Lily. If his lord had set his mind on an idea he made sure to release it by whatever means he had to use.

"I want Harry by my side," Voldemort said simply, shrugging his shoulders carelessly, "His only wish is to save his mother. Killing his father would ruin my plans altogether, so it is indeed inevitable. Besides, Lucius is right - if we put Potter behind the border it would certainly weaken the Resistance, since there aren't many original members left, as far as I know. It would be easy to get rid of them afterwards. Undoubtedly, after Harry is made a Death Eater they would try to enroll more moles into our ranks and with Harry's help we would know who they are for certain."

"I see." He pursed his lips into a tight, straight line, that made them practically disappear, and bowed respectfully to leave, however, his master gestured for him to stay.

"Do not forget, Severus," Voldemort stepped closer and peered into the potions master's waxen, stern face, "That this mudblood almost costed you your life, your work, your sanity. Imagine yourself in Potter's place now and stop this heartbreaking drama of yours. Judging by her treatment of her own son I can conclude that she doesn't deserve your love, she isn't worth your finger. And yet look at yourself," he hissed snidely, disgusted, "I can sense the regret and guilt, pain coming from you in waves. Just like Harry... Are you certain you wish to continue hating the boy? Perhaps, you would find the two of you are not so different after all?" His cold, heartless laughter echoed softly as he slowly walked away to the doors. Halting at the threshold Voldemort looked up at Snape once again, "I would suggest to never look for her, dear Severus. Forget her. The sooner the better. And do not tell Lucius about Harry."

xxx

The doorbell rang, waking James from his evening nap in front of the telly. Jerking and shivering in sleepiness he grudgingly rose up from his armchair and shuffled his feet towards the front door, yawning loudly and stretching his stiffened neck. Lily turned off the water, that was running in the kitchen, and suddenly the whole house fell into an odd, oppressing silence. Without Harry here it become only worse, just like it always did when the boy went away to Hogwarts. Only now he was not at the school but only Merlin knew where, in the enemy's lair.

Since his friends always apparated straight into the living room James pulled on the handle and opened his mouth to tell a muggle salesman or a neighbour off, but froze with his jaw hanging down at the sight of the unexpected visitor.

"What are you doing here?" he finally managed to mumble, grabbing on his wand.

"No need for that, James," Lucius smiled charmingly, pointing his manicured finger at the weapon, "I came with peace." He stood there patiently, waiting for Potter to let him in and inwardly braced himself from sneering at his surroundings. How could have such a once prominent, powerful family fallen so low?

"Whatever you came for - I am not interested in it," James growled, pushing his glasses to sit higher on the bridge of his nose, and scowled at the wizard, who had injured both him and Lily badly so many times in the past, it was truly astonishing how could he just come here, as if nothing had happened, and pretend to be friendly, to be human.

Lucius' smile faltered and his eyes grew suddenly harder as he stepped closer and pressed the head of his cane against the door to prevent it from being closed into his face. "I do not quite enjoy spending my evenings in the company of rats and blood traitors," he hissed menacingly, twisting his lips in disdain, "Nor do I wish to socialize with you, of all people, or that... woman of yours. However, we have a very important matter to discuss."

"Has something happened to Harry?" Lily's worried voice rang through the hall and both men looked up at her thin, weak form, propped against the doorframe that led into the kitchen.

"Something might happen to him unless you would be so kind as to hear me out," Lucius stretched his lips in a painfully indulgent smile and glared at Potter pointedly. Muttering profanities under his breath James stepped aside and let the dark wizard pass. The red haired witch waved at him to invite him to sit at the round table, bare of any cloth, slightly cracked at the edges. "Thank you, Mrs Potter," he said, arching his eyebrows at the small space, crumpled with so many useless, unnecessary contraptions, it looked a lot like an unauthorized flea market.

"Oh, it's Mrs Potter now, not the woman?" Lily sat opposite him rigidly, watching him through the narrowed eyes.

"Of course," Lucius chuckled, "I am always respectful in a personal conversation, I insult only behind one's back, since I am a big bad Death Eater."

She grew old, even though she was still very young for a witch. He remembered her to be a passionate hurricane of fierceness and righteousness, always standing out against the boring mass of Hogwarts' student body... Lily nee Evans lost all of her beauty and allure, she became an ordinary, spiteful hag and Lucius held back a bout of laughter, that threatened to escape his lips at the thought of how lucky Severus was now. Would he have loved her just the same, if this was slowly decaying by his side?

"Stop these slytherin games of yours. Say what you have to say about our son and get out of here!" James lowered himself next to his wife and intentionally rested his both hands on the table, twirling his wand between his fingers warningly.

Lucius raised his eyebrows skeptically at the display and huffed in ire and boredom, "Fine. First, I would like to say that I am very pleased with Harry's work and you may be proud of your son." At their impassive expressions he rolled his eyes in exasperation and leaned back in the creaky chair he was sitting on. "Do you even care for your child's achievements? Your ignorance affects him strongly, do you know that? He is rather devastated because of you."

"Spare us your lessons in parenthood," James sneered at him angrily, "Get to the point."

"As you wish," Lucius sighed. "I want Harry to make a career and make a fortune, to restore his name's power and prestige." He watched the two Potters share a perplexed look between each other and smirked evilly to himself.

James looked up at him warily, "Why do you care?"

"It is only logical to wish to help such a brilliant young wizard in his hard way to the top. We even have a special program at the Department of Education of financing the best students of Hogwarts if they are planning to, for example, take an apprenticeship or start their own business," he said nonchalantly.

"Harry was never the best student," Potter scoffed, laughing bitterly.

"Really? But Headmaster Snape's reference, written individually for him, states otherwise," Lucius drawled amusedly and produced Harry's record file out of the pocket of his robe and threw it carelessly on the table.

Lily visibly shuddered at the mentioning of the name, but straightened herself to respond, "We have seen his OWLs and NEWTs, it is impossible to compromise the Ministry's sealed documents."

"Not for Harry, apparently," he chuckled as he watched James' face grow redder and more confused with every line that he read in the reference. Despite his bold hatred for the boy Severus was fair and unprejudiced in his evaluation of the young wizard's talents. "You see, I couldn't stop wondering how come that a student with such an amazing score in every subject ended up working at the bookshop? As it turns out Harry made his documents display false information, the little cunning trickster that he is, but my office wards were stronger than his spell. I hired him without hesitation after I saw these records and Snape's reference, which was, perhaps, the most significant argument, since there had only been two such individual references ever written by our headmaster." Smiling he crossed his legs, marveling how satisfying it was to wound Potters once again, without even straining a muscle.

"Analytic mind... Constitutional bias to impulsive, emotional magic... Best student in Spell and Curse crafting since the establishment of the program in the curriculum... Strong affinity to the dark..." James mumbled as he read Snape's spidery handwriting aloud over and over. "This is all lies! This is not Harry, it couldn't be!" he cried, enraged, crumpling the paper in his fist.

"Alas, this is the truth," Lucius lifted his shoulders carelessly. "It is understandable why Harry was so adamant to lie to you and make it look like he was a weak, ordinary wizard. Just imagine what would you two have done to him were you aware of this?"

"But how can Harry be dark, he is a Potter!" Lily stared at him, horrified and suddenly defenseless.

Coughing into his fist to hide his chuckles Lucius smiled at her coldly, "Was this the reason you left Snape for Potter? Were you afraid that you would deliver yet another Death Eater into the world?" At her affronted, hurt and scared glare he shook his head in amusement. How easy it was to read her. "You see, Mrs Potter, if you were not so averse to our regime and to our lord, if only you listened to him and read his scientific works, you would have found out that the results of the blood experiments, that had been performed in our laboratories, showed that the breeding between pureblood wizards and mud... muggleborns gives most unpredictable results. You had the very same chances of having a light child with Snape, since your own magic is rather dull grey," Lucius laughed, throwing his head back, as the two Potters stared at him in shock. "However," he added hoarsely, having had pulled himself together, "Harry is not a dark wizard, not at all. He is simply indifferent. Not even grey or neutral, as they call it now, he simply has no intention of associating himself with the side, with the type. His personality and his mind have made him immune to the temptations of the dark power and yet helped him find the source of his magic in his deepest, most complex emotions, taught him to follow his intuition and senses, his nature, which is the complete opposite of the light power, as you both very well know."

"And this is why you are so invested in his future?" James hissed, glaring blindly at the papers in front of him, obviously still in denial of his son's deceit.

"You son is unique, truly unique," Lucius said quietly, caressing the snake head of his cane with the tips of his fingers. "In just a few years, even less, he would become as powerful as I am now, as all of the wizards of the Inner Circle are, and will surpass us eventually. His talents are countless and limitless, he is capable of great achievements... Wizards like Harry are rarely born, he is a precious treasure that the mother nature and magic have graced us with. You are indeed naive if you think I would be just as ignorant as you are to overlook him and let him slip through my fingers."

"Don't act like you know him better than we do," Potter snarled at him, "Harry would never become a Death Eater, I know that for sure!"

"But I do know him better, James," he shook his head, smiling. "I do know him, because unlike you I talk to him. Recently I have made him an offer, a deal, if you wish. He agreed on the condition that his mother would be freed from the Dark Lord's reign."

"What?!" Lily breathed out shakily.

Lucius hummed mirthfully, "Yes, it seems that Harry is capable of doing whatever it takes to help his beloved mother."

"He has actually agreed to take the Mark in exchange for Lily's freedom?" James asked suspiciously.

"Yes." Lying was the easiest part of this game, really. He hadn't told Harry anything yet, he wished to leave the boy without any choice whatsoever - which meant forcing his parents out of the country.

"How could he do this? How could he..." The red haired witch sprang up on her feet, clutching onto her arms desperately, and paced the small room, anxious, crying silently.

"What does this freedom entail? Are you going to send his mother to the labour camp or straight to her death? Does he even understand what has he gotten himself into?" Potter asked, trying very hard to suppress the strong tremor in his hands. However, Lucius saw it and carefully held onto his cane, ready to take out his wand the second the other man lost his temper completely.

"Harry understands everything perfectly. And no, James, nobody is going to kill your wife. In fact, you are both going to be sent abroad, forever."

An awkward silence fell, as the two of them stared at Lucius dumbly. "Abroad?" Lily rasped, befuddled, as she rubbed off the tears that stained her face.

"Harry's condition is for you to be free and safe," he explained patiently, "I see no other option but to put you behind our border. Both you and James, since you are married after all and it would be rather inappropriate to throw you out there all alone," he smirked mockingly.

"This is insane, you have no authority to do that! We will not be thrown out of our own country simply because it tickles your fancy to play with the naive boy's feelings!" James stood up sharply, dropping his chair and pointing his wand at Lucius, who had already raised his own.

"Sit down, Potter, or I will make you with one of the Unforgivables - guess which particular one I would choose," he hissed venomously, already tired of the the man's stupidity and stubbornness. How could he be Harry's father was beyond Lucius' understanding.

The ever clever Lily hastily grabbed on her husband's arm and pushed him down on her chair, squeezing his shoulders nervously, avoiding to meet Lucius' eyes.

"As for my authority..." he continued after James seemed to have quieten down, "I have the Dark Lord's personal approval. He gave me full authority to use whatever means necessary to send you abroad. As you see, I am trying to be nice to you, all for Harry's sake. However, you don't seem to appreciate a fair play, so I will play just like the bloody Death Eater that I am," Lucius gritted through his teeth and threw a sealed scroll into Potter's face. "Here is the order for you to leave in the course of seven days. If you would not obey, you both will be executed for treason."

"What?!" James stared at the very much real order of the Department of Law Enforcement, signed by his own boss.

His wife, however, didn't seem to comprehend the vital information, "The Dark Lord? Has he met Harry?"

"Oh, yes, he has," Lucius smiled brilliantly, "Twice. He absolutely loved the boy and expressed his wish to see Harry bearing his Mark."

"What kind of a treason?! I serve your lord!" James cried, clutching on the paper, afraid to believe what he saw.

Sighing Lucius rose up and gracefully strode to the hall, throwing over his shoulder, "I do not have the evidence, Potter, otherwise I would have had your head on the stick long ago. I know you are one of the members of the Order, who are behind the Resistance, I know you are a traitor - always was and always will be. If you would not leave for good, I will arrest you and either Snape or the Dark Lord himself would legilimize you and then we will have all the evidence that we need to execute you and your little friends. And your wife as well - just for the counts, but we will paint it as for being a part of the conspiracy," he widened his eyes, laughing cruelly, and waved his hand at them dissuasively, "No need to see me out, I will find the way... Don't even try to contact Harry - you will meet him either on the border or in the afterlife." With that he left, shutting the front door behind him with a loud bang.

"I told you, James, I told you, you should have never sent him there!" Lily whispered through harsh sobs, that burst out of her chest, as she wept, clutching on her mouth with her both hands. "I knew there was something wrong with him and now see where it led us all? He wants to become a Death Eater!"

"This isn't true, Harry could have never agreed to this. This is all Lucius' games, he has been after me and Sirius all these years," James shook his head vehemently, still staring at the order for his own arrest.

Harry's words rang in his mind, deafening him. Again and again he heard his son telling him that he didn't know what would he do if he was to write his father's death certificate. This one wasn't written by Harry, but because of him. Had they blown his cover? Was it all some kind of a sick plot to punish the boy?

"Don't believe a word that comes out of the foul mouth of that snake! Have you forgotten who he is? Who he really is? He is not a bloody Under Secretary, he is a Death Eater, a murderer, a criminal. He is a Malfoy - a man who doesn't care for anybody but himself and who would not hesitate to resort to the ugliest, most disgraceful methods in order to achieve his goal. I will get to the bottom of this, we are not going anywhere!"

xxx

Harry sat in his room, staring at the pages, but he could hardly decipher the text. Three days have passed since Riddle gave him his family book and only now had Harry found the courage to look inside it and actually read it. It was hard to imagine that his relatives, his ancestors, used to be just like Malfoys, Blacks, only the magic they wielded was mostly light, but other than that there was no difference. Purebloods were all the same.

He had read only a few opening chapters written by one of the heads of the family who lived in XVI century. The wizard had complied all the Potter traditions and rules, knowledge and spells and recorded them in a form of instructions, very much like a textbook. Etiquette, economy, politics, child raising - everything was thoroughly covered and made Harry shake his head in astonishment more than once. If Sirius found shelter at James's house in their youth - it was due only to the fact that by that time Potters had lost all of their fortune and chic and, apparently, dignity. He stopped at the code of laws, a formulary of sorts, and was now looking at it dumbly, unseeingly. What was the reason, why would Riddle give him this, if he knew very well that the true Potters and he, Harry, were the most different people in the world, he could never be like his presumptuous ancestors.

"Where have you found this treasure?" Long, blond hair, painted golden in the candle light, fell heavily onto the pages and Harry's hands. He jerked, snapped out of his stupor, and looked up sharply only to come face to face with his boss. "The door was left open and I saw you were practically in a coma over your read," Malfoy told him, smiling slightly, "Is this what I think it is?"

"Yes, sir," Harry murmured. "The House of Potter. Mr Riddle lent it to me." He hastily lowered his gaze and tried hard not to blush. Such close proximity to Malfoy made him uncomfortable in a very comfortable way and he couldn't believe how much he desired to touch this hair, to smell it, to feel it against his cheek.

"He has taken quite a liking to you, hasn't he," Lucius hummed sarcastically and straightened up to move aside and sit down opposite his assistant. "May I?" He held out his hand.

Dutifully passing him the heavy tome Harry contemplated if he should try and ask the man about his odd friend, to at least distract himself from the prohibited thoughts. "Are you afraid of Mr Riddle, sir? I don't mean to... You just seem unnerved whenever you have to encounter him..."

Gently touching the old, slightly crumbled pages, tracing the imprints of once golden letters Lucius let the smile, that has been tugging on the corners of his lips, finally stretch them. "You could say so, yes. I am not afraid of him as a person, we have a long history together and I honestly admire him. It is his condition that disturbs me, Mr Potter. He had been living in a permanent pain for far too long, it has taken its toll on his already rotten temper..." he paused in a sudden realization that it was indeed not the fear but the pain that he himself was experiencing every time he saw his master, the man who used to possess his body and soul without any magic at all. "I am simply disheartened to see him in such a state, and angry that he keeps testing his limits when all he has to do is to lie down and let others care for him. Mr Riddle is too proud for that."

Yes, that matched the image that Harry had made up of the author of the journal very well. Riddle seemed to be very arrogant, although it was hard to blame him for it - he had achieved so much all on his own, he had the right to hold on to his pride. What else was left for him, really?

"You seem to care for him very much, sir. You are a very good friend," Harry offered his boss a small but warm smile.

"This is what fol... Friends are for - to take care of you, when you are in need of it," Lucius looked up at the young man, raising his eyebrows humourously. "It doesn't surprise me he has this almanac in his possession. He has most of them that come from the families that do not exist anymore or lost the purity of their blood completely. A hunger for knowledge and a permanent boredom are horrible traits if you ask me," he chuckled, astonished at how easily he could speak of the Dark Lord when it came to his 'humane', real identity.

"But who is he?" Harry leaned forward, propping his elbows on the desk and watching the wizard curiously. "He told me he is not a Death Eater, doesn't bear the Mark."

He could have told him the truth, but his intuition told Lucius it wouldn't be appreciated. Mind games was all that was left for his master now and taking this perverted pleasure from him seemed unfair, even though Lucius hated to imagine what could happen to Harry in the process.

"He is a very special warlock and I have no right to reveal his position and origins to you, Mr Potter. If he chooses to tell you he will do it personally."

"He is so strange," Harry drawled absentmindedly, scowling at his own hands, "I don't understand why is he so interested in me, why would he give me this almanac..."

Lucius laughed softly at that, "Oh, Mr Potter, your naiveté is truly miraculous. It seems as if you exist in your own secluded world and don't see how wonderful you are. People notice you, it is something that your blood and your powers gave you. One would have to be blind or tricked by you to miss you - and Mr Riddle is neither of the two. He sees your potential just like I see it, just like Headmaster Snape saw it when he wrote you that reference..." At Harry's surprised expression he shook his head and laughed again. "Please, you have spent two months working in my office - you know perfectly well that none of the documents can be compromised in there unless I wrote them personally. I know how actually brilliant you are, suffice to say Mr Riddle knows as well. He is terribly sensitive to other's magic, he knew you were special from the moment he touched you." Lucius' smile faltered at these words, however, Harry never noticed it of course. He was still angry about that time and could only guess if the Dark Lord pawed his wizard again.

Blushing fiercely Harry shyly lowered his gaze, trying to hide a pleased smile that threatened to give out all the complex emotions, that Malfoy made him experience. "You are too kind, sir."

"Perhaps," Lucius grinned hungrily at the display of a handsome blush that covered the young man's cheeks. "How do you find the Potter's Code? I saw you were reading it."

Grateful for the change of the topic Harry instantly perked up, "I am astonished to find how similar our families were, if you don't mind me saying so, sir."

"No, no, not at all," he waved his hand dismissively and placed the heavy book between Harry and himself. "This Code is a common phenomenon among purebloods, it differs in some points, but mostly it stays the same. Now you do believe me when I said your father used to be corporally punished, don't you?" He placed his index finger next to one of the rules. "In all honesty our families are much more alike than you can imagine and we are actually very close bloodwise, or to be precise, you and Draco are."

"What do you mean?" Harry creased his brow in disbelief.

Smiling Lucius turned to the end of the book where a folded page was situated. With a practiced ease he opened the hidden family tree and tapped his fingernail next to the last names that were written under the lowest branch. "Your grandfather Charlus Potter married a Black. Dorea Black. Lady Malfoy nee Black is her niece."

Shocked Harry stared at their names and the name of his father being scribbled aside. "So James is... half Black? Is this why I have such a high affinity to the dark magic?" Sirius and James were cousins, he and Draco were also... Who would have believed that? Was this also a reason why Narcissa was so cold and mean towards him, because he was related to her?

"I believe so, yes." It galled Lucius that Potter had never told Harry any of this, for the information was truly vital for him in their society. "This is also one of the reasons why people are so interested in you, now that you work for me. They think I chose you because of a relation to my wife and son, therefore they are inclined to think that you are either more a Black than a Potter, or that I am going to make you into one."

"Are you?" The emerald eyes challenged him.

"Do I need to?" The grey hue brightened and for a moment there Harry even thought he saw sparkles swirl inside the orbs.

"I don't know, sir."

Playing with Harry was most pleasant. It would have been perfect if their game led them straight into bed, but Lucius knew he had to be very careful, now that he was close to reaching his goal.

"I like you the way you are, Mr Potter. I believe you have found the ultimate balance between all the bloods that surge through your veins. It would be a shame if I tried to change your personality that I value so highly." Seeing how embarrassed and at the same time pleased Harry felt he decided it was a good opportunity to strike a deal. Lucius placed his hand over the wizard's smaller one and barely restrained himself from humming in delight at the sight of a soundless gasp that escaped the slightly parted, red lips. "Do you remember our conversation about your mother, Mr Potter?"

The hand was so warm, so soft, the long fingers moved almost imperceptibly, caressing his skin and Harry struggled to breathe again, for the air seemed to have been knocked out of him by a simple touch. Did Malfoy possess some kind of love magic, that affected him so strongly? He barely comprehended the question.

"Y-yes..."

Of course Harry remembered. He dreaded the moment when his boss would make him the offering and now it seemed the time has come, but he was so not ready to think, to consider all the possible consequences when the other's hand kept massaging his in a most lecherous yet modest manner.

"It took me some time to come up with the possible solution for your problem, I have to admit. But, nevertheless, the solution exists and is very much real and harmless. However, the price you have to pay for it is very, very high." Lucius peered into the flushed face, patiently waiting for an answer. Potters were going to be moved, willingly or forcibly. He wasn't going to let Harry go, never.

"I have to take the Mark, don't I," Harry sighed, knowing all too well that there was no higher price than giving another man a power over your soul and magic. Malfoy himself told him he used to be absolutely horrified by the prospect and now was offering him the very same destiny...

"Yes. Take the Mark, pledge loyalty to the Dark Lord and our country and execute the orders that he would give you. However, I promise you, Mr Potter," Lucius squeezed his hand in reassurance and waited for their eyes to meet again to convey the sincerity of his words, "I promise you that you will not be forced to kill or torture another human being. Your talents lie in completely different areas where they would be undoubtedly appreciated and cherished."

Looking him straight in the eyes and feeling for the weak vibes of his dark magic Harry whispered, "What is the solution then?"

"I will send your mother and your father abroad. They would be able to live anywhere in the world apart from Britain, they will be just as free as they used to be before the war."

There must have been a trick somewhere. It couldn't be that easy, Malfoy couldn't do something that went completely against all the laws for him, in exchange for his petty life. "Will I be able to ever see them again?"

"If you go abroad in your free time - yes, you will be," Lucius reluctantly admitted. It was better to feed Harry this small lie now and let him get accustomed to his new life, let him forget. Of course he would be able to travel as any Death Eater, but it was Lucius' intention to never let him near his parents again, for where was James Potter - there was Albus Dumbledore and his little band of outsiders.

"But what is the trick then?" It slipped.

Lucius chuckled and squeezed Harry's hand again, lovingly and tenderly now. "The trick is that there is no trick, Mr Potter. You would go on with your life as my assistant and the Potter heir, you would be working just as hard, making your money. The Mark will help you gain recognition and good reputation, wealth. The only disadvantage will be your... Enslavement to the Dark Lord." This term was never used, but the more sincere he acted towards Harry the higher were his chances to deserve his trust and faithfulness. "However, you will be surprised with how generous and fair our master is. Once you will get to know him, it would be much easier to accept his ownership."

He already owns you, Lucius thought with a slight resentment. It was so typical of the Dark Lord to charm his victims and make them fall for him before he branded them and threw away like useless toys.

In all honesty it wasn't as hard a decision to make as he had anticipated it would be. Sooner or later, he knew, he was going to be marked. It was what Lucius wanted from him, it was what the Resistance wanted from him, his father... He was already tainted to his mother, after all, what good could he do for her? It was one chance in a lifetime to be sent abroad without any prosecutions whatsoever. They were going to simply be free again. And if he thought about it, it was better for James as well, for Harry was certain his arrest was only a matter of time.

“Will they truly be safe?"

"Yes."

The grey eyes held no guile inside, only calmness and reassurance.

"I agree," Harry breathed out, powerless and helpless. Once his family was safely put behind the borders he was going to lose his freedom in their stead. However, Harry was dead set on the notion that he would never kill anybody, he'd rather they tortured him to death then made him take another life.

"You will not regret your decision, Mr Potter... Harry," Lucius sighed contentedly and took the young man's trembling hand in his both, soothingly rubbing it between his palms and fingers.

He looked up at his name being said and felt the heat concentrate in his face and his abdomen. It became suddenly hot in his room and the sweat made the shirt cling to his back. "I hope so, sir," Harry managed to bit out, afraid that his voice would betray his anxiety and excitement.

"Since you have agreed I am going to arrange everything right away, however, I am afraid you wouldn't be able to see your parents before their departure. They will have to spend a few days at the Ministry, you see, to put all of their documents, properties and financials into order, and we, as you well know, are all booked up with our work at Hogwarts," he drawled nonchalantly, smiling at the young man and marveling the flutter in his gut that he hadn't felt for so long.

"Yes, I understand. It is better if I don't see them, I think."

Or I might change my mind. Harry feared that if he sees them he wouldn't change his decision but would spoil everything by confessing to either side of his true feelings. That he wasn't able to spy on Malfoy, that he wasn't able to survive his parent's deaths and he'd rather sell himself into slavery then see them suffer, that he liked Malfoy to the point when he secretly wished to know what is it like to touch him... Confused. Harry was completely confused with his life and felt grateful for the huge amount of work that he was going to face during the next few days, for it was a perfect distraction. From everything.

Having had made a horrible effort Lucius let go of his hand and stood up, "I am very proud of you, Mr Potter. You did everything right. I will have to bid you a good night, for I have to send a few owls now that the process is bound to be set in motion."

With that he left, although every cell of his body begged him to stay and try and comfort the obviously disheartened wizard. But Harry wasn't the one to be fucked senseless to feel better, he had to analyze everything on his own and make the best of it. And only afterwards, when he was certain he made a truly right choice, was he going to need another being and a physical closeness to reassure him of his own competence and power... Lucius bitterly admitted that he knew it all all too well. His lord used to be just the same after all...

xxx

All of James's attempts to meet Harry had turned out to be fruitless. No matter how hard he tried he couldn't catch up with his son. Whenever he was at the Ministry - the boy wasn't there but away with Malfoy. Writing letters and sending owls was useless he knew, for Harry told him himself that his post was being checked. It was the fifth day of the deadline that had been drawn for them, and Lily, scared to death, had already packed their belongings even though he kept telling her that it all was just a trick and nobody was going to send them out... However, the more time passed the less certain he was of his own words.

Lord Parkinson, who had signed the order, was conveniently out of the country, his deputy had no knowledge of the details of the prosecution and every time James tried to talk to him he would send him off with the very same line: "I have no right to disclose any information to a non-marked colleague", even though it was obvious he never saw James as a colleague but a scum underneath his boots. They all were marked, the high-ranking officers, and they all kept their distance from those who used to be on the other side of the barricades during the war. There was nobody James could turn to for help.

Sirius was unreachable, for he had been placed for a long term examination and revaluation of the department on the other end of the country in a small town somewhere in the middle of nowhere, and something was telling James that his owls were simply intercepted on their way, for his friend had never once missed any of his letters before... Malfoy's long hands were everywhere, like a spider he weaved his web and pulled on the right strings every time James took another step left or right. He had planned everything and his own working schedule as well.  
That was why, in a bout of desperation and helplessness, James traveled all the way to Hogwarts, where he hadn't been to for almost twenty years. He never attended his son's graduation because Harry asked him not to. He used to think the boy simply didn't want him and Sirius to meet Snape and all the slytherins and get into trouble, but now... Now he understood that Harry didn't want him to see how Snape presented him with his outstanding diploma, his unique reference and a medal for scientific achievements - the one that Lily found hidden in the attic just yesterday. Harry felt ashamed of his own success in the field of dark magic, and in all honesty James couldn't really blame him for it. He had no idea how would he have reacted if he knew then...

Taking a deep, shuddering breath and trying in vain to calm himself down he entered through the tall doors and ascended the painfully familiar steps of the grand stairs of Hogwarts. Nothing visibly changed - and he knew it was Snape's doing - everything was left just the way it had always been, all the talking portraits, the moving armour, even the poltergeist Peeves... Hogwarts seemed to be the only part of their shared past that, like a rock amidst the sea, withstood every blow of the angry, destructive waves. But even stone changed its form with time and all this was just an illusion. A lie. Most teachers were replaced, new disciplines and subjects were introduced, no more prejudice against the houses existed - only the prejudice against muggleborns.

It was the end of May, Friday, most students were outside, bathing in the warm rays of the sun. The few ones that James had met on his way were running carelessly around and screaming happily, completely ignorant of the outside world and its bitterness. Their happy, red, sweated faces made him wonder what was it like for Harry to study here, was he just as careless and free, or was he the gloomy and the closed-off boy that he knew him to be? Did he enjoy being here? He never thought to ask, in his opinion being in Gryffindor and having friends like Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger - complete opposites of the Death Eater ideal - was in itself a joy and a salvation from the regime that poisoned the young, undeveloped minds through the heavily 'improved' curriculum. After everything he had learned about his son in just a course of two months James found he had absolutely no idea.

When he thought about it, he suddenly realized that Harry stopped communicating with Weasleys as soon as Hermione and her family had escaped. Did he even have any friends at all? The more James analyzed Harry and what he thought he knew about him, the more he understood that his son was a complete enigma to him. A stranger.

"And what in the name of Salazar are you doing here, Potter?" The scathing tone, the snide and droning pronunciation of his name instantly alerted James of who exactly was behind his back.

"Snape," he gritted through his teeth, looking everywhere but at the tall, dark form that could be barely distinguished amongst the deep, dark shadows.

"Headmaster Snape. You are ought to call me by my title, Potter," Severus hissed and came closer to take a better look at his eternal enemy.

With a twisted satisfaction he assessed the tired, hollow face, pale and unhealthy in its colour, the worn, cheap clothes and an evidently weakened aura. James Potter got everything he deserved and even more. It was only now that Severus began to realize what Lucius was actually doing and couldn't help but admire his friend's cunningness again and again. He turned Potter's son against his own father and wounded James much harder and deeper than a Sectumsempra could. How would it feel like to live being cut off of his homeland, of his only child, who turned out to be the Dark's prodigy? No, Severus was very excited to have the boy in their ranks now, for he could have his revenge on both him and James. And Lily. "

May I inquire after what is the purpose of your visit? Is it an official one? I haven't been notified."

"It's not," James bit out. "I'm looking for Harry, I know he's working here today."

"You are aware of the fact that you are not supposed to see him before they send you out, aren't you?" Severus drawled slowly, taking pleasure in every syllable.

"Does everybody in the world know that I am prosecuted to be either killed or forcibly sent away? Everybody except Harry?" he snapped, habitually raising his wand.

Narrowing his eyes and taking a threatening step closer Severus dramatically threw his cloak over his shoulder and murmured lowly into James's distorted face, "This is the first and the last time I am going to help you, Potter. Mark my words: if you wish to save the lives of your wife and son you would obey the Ministry's Order and leave the country for good. I can assure you that should you continue your stubborn, pointless resistance, you would simply doom them both. She would die and the boy... The Dark Lord has already met him. One word from me and he would break into his mind like a tsunami and find out everything about you and your friends, leaving the brat to exist as a brainless plant until the end of his life." Twisting his lips in ire and disgust he quickly walked past him, "Your son is outside. Be sure to leave as soon as possible."

Even though he hated Snivellus and would have never listened to whatever advice the bastard gave him James couldn't help but shudder, as he turned the man's words over and over in his mind. He stumbled down the stairs and walked out into the sun, shivering as if he was running a fever. Everything was happening too fast. When they were recruiting Harry he honestly didn't expect anything to come out of it, frankly speaking he never thought that his son had it in him, he always saw him a weak-willed child, a bookworm and a quiet stay-at-home.

But only in two months time the boy transformed into a young man, strikingly beautiful, with so much of Dorea Black in both his appearance and personality, it seemed most bizarre. James loved his mother, because she was deviant to her dark family, yet she was a dark witch and she had a temper. Harry turned out to be a more pureblood than he or his father Charlus had ever been, he wrapped Lucius Malfoy around his finger like a skilled black widow, and yet he was the very same naive, kindhearted boy... Had he always been like that? How could they have missed this?

The green lawn was cramped with the bodies of students in different poses, but most of them sat in a group around the stage that had been recently built up for a dueling competition, that was going to be traditionally held at the end of the term. Malfoy was responsible for the organization and the holding of the event. And here he was, sitting in a plushy armchair under a huge black umbrella, that protected his porcelain white skin from the obnoxious rays of the sun. James squinted at the bright light trying to find Harry, but there were just too many teenagers who looked all the same to him in their similar uniforms...

Harry went up the stairs and onto the stage, having had taken his outer robe off - it was unbelievably hot today and after working for a few hours straight in the heat, he felt as if he had been participating in a swimming competition in the Black Lake. Brushing the sweat off of his forehead with the back of his hand he concentrated on the text in his other one, throwing displeased glances at the crowd of girls who had been discussing him intentionally loudly.

Those were mostly compliments, but they distracted him from his job which was indeed very important, for Malfoy trusted him with the most intricate detail - installation of a shielding ward around the stage, that would prevent the spells from reaching the spectators. Its formula was very complex, in all honesty Harry thought the spell to be old-fashioned, but he doubted he was capable of improving it in a second - spell crafting called for patience and a lot of experiments, and he had no luxury to have either of these.

"Is everything alright, Mr Potter?" Lucius asked cheerfully, sipping on his ice-tea through a long tube out of the tall white glass, that matched his white outfit. He didn't miss the attention his young assistant was receiving from the female audience and couldn't help but laugh at the evident discomfort that Harry was experiencing.

"Yes, sir, I just need a second," Harry assured him and creased his brow in concentration. He had to succeed at this, this spell wasn't unknown to him, nor was it the most difficult one that he had ever encountered. Taking a few deep breaths he squared his shoulders and raised his wand. You can do it.

James watched, mesmerized, how Harry gracefully drew a long and confusing pattern and instantly the air around him began vibrating with such force, that the small waves were actually visible to a human's eye. He put up a shield from the first try and it didn't look like he strained one muscle.

"Mr Potter, how about a small demonstration of the ward's security?" Lucius called after his assistant and lazily stood up, letting his long robe slide down his back and pool lightly at the feet. A long, lustful sigh rushed through the crowd as he ascended the steps in a few quick strides. "Duel me," he raised his arm, holding his polished wand weakly, barely touching it at all.

"Sir?" Harry stared at his boss, blinded by both his pearly white suit and the sun, that was right behind him, embracing him in a halo of light very much like an angel from one of the children's muggle books. The sight was impressive.

"You heard me right, Mr Potter. Let us see if the reference was fair and you are truly a good duelist. As far as I know you have never participated in the school's competition," Lucius arched his eyebrow and gave the wizard a pointed, knowing look. "I believe it was your shyness and reluctance to show others just how skilled you are?"

Harry never signed up for the competition out of fear that his opponent would force him to use dark spells and he was certain his friends, meaning Ron, wouldn't appreciate his gifts. The news would have surely reached his parents and that was the last thing Harry wanted to have on his plate. But right now he was working for a Death Eater and was supposed to know these curses and spells, it wasn't going to be frowned upon...

"Alright, as you wish," he took a stance and raised his wand as well.

"Splendid," Lucius allowed himself to throw a blinding grin at the young man. "Diffindo!"

James stood with his jaw hanging low as he watched his son easily shield himself from the dangerous, harmful curses, and just as easily, with a practiced grace in his movements cast his own, just as dark and complex. He jumped and ducked and spun, almost dancing, as he forced Malfoy to move and change their positions. Harry looked calm, precarious... He looked pleased. The joy of the process was obvious on his face, on his lips that were stretched in a small, genuine smile. His long raven hair swayed in the wind like a pirate flag, standing out starkly against the warm, orange sky. If James didn't know him he would have sworn he was looking at Dorea Black's father, that he remembered from a portrait.

The duel ended abruptly when Lucius casted an Expelliarmus, but instead of taking Harry's wand lost his own - the young wizard accioed it wandlessly. "I knew it!" he laughed triumphantly over the low rumble of the student's voices, "I knew you were capable of wandless magic, Mr Potter!"

Red as the evening sky Harry hurried to give the man his wand back and shyly smiled into his hand when Malfoy graced him with another sincere, beautiful smile of his. "It is nothing special, Mr Malfoy, I am rather limited in this field."

"Nonsense," Lucius huffed, accepting his wand and joining his assistant in a slow descend from the stage and a walk through the cheering crowd towards the umbrella, "If you could take my wand then you would certainly manage to perform an Incendio very soon. That is, if you haven't had already." He picked up his cloak and passed Harry his robe. "You should practice more, Mr Potter. And I would highly recommend to sign up for an adult competition next year. It will be a child's game to you, the way I see it..."

Before Harry came up with an eloquent answer, blushing fiercely again, he was interrupted by a familiar voice. "Harry?" He turned and froze in surprise and slight fear.

"Dad?"

He thought he should have said something along the lines of 'we need to talk' or 'son, you've made a great mistake' but instead all that James could do was to shout, "How could you lie to us?"

"What are you doing here?" Harry felt trapped once again. The very sight of his father looking so tired and livid at the same time made his insides churn. The murderous look on Malfoy's face didn't promise anything good either. This was the last thing he needed now, of all times - a duel between his father and his boss, or worse, his father's arrest just two days before he was ought to leave the country for good.

"Potter," Lucius bowed his head in greeting, however, his hand was clutching on the handle of the wand so hard the wooden stick visibly trembled by his side. How daft was this idiot, hadn't he learned anything about their new government yet? Nobody played games anymore and orders weren't written for fun. He would have been executed if it wasn't for Lucius' graciousness towards Harry and his feelings. Still, if James Potter tried to compromise his plan he wouldn't be the kind and understanding employer anymore and would solve this problem the easiest and the most efficient way...

"I can't believe you could hide something so important from me and your mother!" James raised his voice, pointedly ignoring Malfoy, and towering over Harry who was still a little shorter than him.

"What are you talking about, dad? Why are you here?" Harry kept staring at him with wide eyes, looking just as perplexed as he actually felt.

"Potter, you are hindering my assistant from fulfilling his duties," Lucius hissed at the man's back, losing patience with the speed of light.

"I am his father I have a right to talk to him whenever I want!" James barked back at the blonde and grabbed on Harry's robe to pull him away. "You are coming with me, we need to have a serious talk!"

Tearing his clothes out of his hold Harry threw an apologetic glance at his employer whose pale, stone hard face told him he was going to be severely punished for this later, and reluctantly followed his father. James's hunched shoulders and slightly bent back were a clear indication of his fury, however, that wasn't what disturbed Harry. He knew very well what was the man going to talk to him about and he wished the earth could swallow him up, for he dearly hoped to avoid this conversation.

They walked all the way down to the forest and James came to an abrupt halt, turning sharply around and peering into his son's pale, pained face. "Harry, how could you... No, I don't really care about your lies right now, but about your life I do care a lot! How could you have agreed to this? Malfoy-"

"No." Harry cut him off, shaking his head vehemently, "No, we are not talking about that. You wanted me to take the Mark - I did, I stroke a deal out of it and found a way to make you and mom free again and you dare to come here and berate me for it? Do you have any idea how hard it was to make it all happen? Do you have any idea what does it feel like to know that I would exchange my freedom and will for yours?" He tried to talk quietly and calmly, but his trembling voice betrayed his anxiety and nervousness, he hated fighting with his parents, and it felt so unfair to act so coldly and heartlessly towards his father, but there was no other way.

"How can you be so naive?!" James bellowed, "It's all a trick! They will kill us, nobody is going to move us anywhere, they must have blown your cover and this is how they are punishing you!"

"This is not the trick, the trick is that I... You are going to be moved, nobody will kill you. This is the truth," he muttered, looking away and scowling at the grass beneath his feet. He didn't have any kind of assurance except Malfoy's word of honour, but for the life of him Harry couldn't find anything wrong with it. He trusted the man to do as he promised he would, he trusted him completely, unconsciously.

"The ord-" James began, but stopped when the green eyes found his again and froze him into astonishment with a warning glare.

"I do not wish to hear anything you have to say, dad. I have made a decision, you will have to accept it. You and mom are going to live anywhere you like, you will be free to practice magic, to have friends, you will reunite with your comrades and Dumbledore or whoever there is... You will be normal people, you will have an opportunity to lead a normal, healthy life, away from the regime. Can't you just appreciate my sacrifice for you and see it as a chance that a Fate gave you? Do you honestly believe you would be able to keep your Resistance work for much longer?"

Seeing that James had nothing to say to this Harry heaved a long and heavy sigh and rubbed on his tired face with one hand, while fishing a cigarette out of his pocket with another.

"They are hunting down someone from your group, somebody who bombed their laboratories. I don't know the name, I don't know if he knows mine, but as far as I understand this wizard knows yours. Do you think I will survive writing an execution order in your name?" He blew out the dark grey smoke through his nostrils and offered his father a skeptical look. "I don't think so. If this wizard is caught and interrogated I'd rather you were on the other side of the border where they can't prosecute you anymore. If he knows me... Well, then... I will die easily, knowing that the two of you are safe," Harry shrugged his shoulders, seemingly carelessly, though his hands shook and it took him a few tries to put the cigarette right between his lips.

He didn't know his son smoked. He didn't know his son could be so hard and so... Mature. Cold. Cynical. To James it felt as if he was talking to a complete stranger, who took Polyjuice Potion to look like his child.

"He... He doesn't know about you. We recruited you after he went into hiding and he has been rarely contacting us, so he isn't aware of the new members..." he murmured absentmindedly, watching the young man in front of him in a cloud of bitter smoke that hurt his eyes. "How can you trust Malfoy, Harry, this snake-"

Harry shook his head again signing for James to shut up. "This is how it is being done, dad. If I don't trust him he wouldn't trust me. He sees my faithfulness, he does something for me in return, as a gesture of appreciation, I suppose. He is not as bad as you might think, as you might know him to be. He is cruel, heartless, mercantile, yes... But to be honest with you, those are the qualities one has to possess in order to survive in this new society. I am learning it the hard way, he is teaching me."

The cigarette had run out and it was now a filter and a paper that were slowly burning between his fingers. Harry watched the tiny reddish sparkles on its edge and wondered if he should smoke those drugs all the time instead of tobacco. The pain that nestled in his chest was too much for him to bear. This was going to be the last time he saw his father in, possibly, forever, and all they could talk about was this… "He is just a man after all. A powerful one, but a human being just like us."

Did Harry know about the order for his execution? Did he know and didn't care or, perhaps, knew that it was a lie and... James felt his head was spinning, he couldn't understand anything anymore.

"Harry, don't trust him, you can't trust him, he is playing with you just like with everybody else. Don't you see it? Believe me he would betray you the very moment it is beneficial to him to do so!"

There was an evident desperation in his father's voice and Harry could only close his eyes in exhaustion and sigh again. "You sent me into his office, you sent me to work for him, remember? What are you trying to do now? There is nothing you can do, dad. I have to adjust in order to survive and save you and mom. I have adjusted to living and working with him. Can't you just support me?" He looked up and snorted bitterly at the sight of a heartbroken expression on the man's face. "Yeah, I expected that much. You will have to forgive me for saving your life, dad, for depriving you of dying like a hero, like a fighter who never bent his back before his enemies... All this romanticism is lovely when you are reading about it in a book, but when you are actually there, on their side, and see it all from their point of view... Nothing heroic about it, really. You will die in vain and take mom with you - this is the reality. Open your eyes and accept the fact that you are all powerless and useless with your young spies, bombers and Albus Dumbledore, who is sitting abroad and sending you orders by owl. He tried to read my mind the moment he met me - how do you find it? What is the difference between him and Snape, really? I see none," he lifted his shoulders irritably and turned away to leave.

"Harry, wait," James called after him, but his son never stopped.

"Don't," Harry threw over his shoulder, "I won't change my decision and I can't change it now anyway. I will see you off at the border." He walked fast, almost ran back, biting his lower lip harshly and tasting blood on his tongue. If he turned and looked at his father again he would certainly break.

"Mr Potter?" Lucius met him at the school's entrance still feeling angry. However, the sight of Harry's face marred with an expression of grief cooled him down and he bit back his scathing comments. "Are you done?" he asked instead.

"Yes, sir, please, forgive me," Harry blurted out as he joined his boss in a walk back into the Great Hall, from where they were supposed to floo back to the Ministry.

There were great many things that Lucius wished to say, but the more he watched the young man out of the corner of his eye the more he realized it was better to keep silent for a time being. Had Potter told Harry about the prosecution? It was impossible to tell. He could have very well lost the wizard's trust forever today, all because of one idiot who thought himself to be smarter than the Under Secretary...

"Please, forgive my father for this outburst. He didn't mean to be disrespectful. I told him that I would see him and mother off at the border. I think he is simply overwhelmed with the news and with how fast everything is happening," Harry murmured softly while they stood by the fireplace and waited for their turn to floo.

Apparently Potter hadn't managed to tell him. All the better. "Do not worry, Mr Potter. I am a father myself, it is quite understandable that he wished to see you before leaving. There is always so much left unsaid, however, no matter how hard you try to say it - it just never ends," Lucius placed his hand onto the wizard's shoulder and patted it sympathetically, gently. "Sometimes it is better to never say anything at all. The heart always knows."

It seemed that Malfoy was once again talking from experience and Harry couldn't help but wonder if his boss had his heart broken...


	6. Thunderbolt

_"The belief in a supernatural source of evil is not necessary. Men alone are quite capable of every wickedness." Joseph Conrad_

Hermione's owl had finally found him at Hogwarts. It was just another day of their work there and Harry was trying his best to not think of his parents and his father's visit of the previous day. Grateful to have something to distract his mind with and to have a break from a boring task of looking through the bills, Harry hastily tore the envelope open and read the letter.

Harry,

I haven't heard from you for so long I am worried now. Your last letter about your new job was rather vague and I don't know what to suspect anymore. How about you tell me the truth? Or at least give me a hint? Please? 

We decided to settle down in Boston for a while, with my dad's friends, so I have nothing new to tell yet.

Please answer soon, 

Love,

H.

Smiling, he folded the paper and put it away into his inner pocket. He figured it was safest to compose his answer now, while he was at the library without anybody watching and while his friend's owl was obviously waiting for a reply.

A warm, pleasant pang in his heart brought back the memories of how they met for the first time. He sat here, in the library, only a few desks to the left, reading up on the first assignment that they were given at Transfiguration. Harry barely knew his classmates, not at all interested in making any friends, why though, he wasn't even sure himself. Perhaps, he was simply unused to socializing with so many people stuck at one place together? He didn't know.

"Is it the book that professor said could be helpful?" He remembered her high voice and a slightly bossy tone; it still rang clearly in his ears. 

Harry looked up at the bushy haired girl, who seemed strangely familiar - one look at her tie told him she was his housemate. "Yeah," was all he said as he continued to copy the passage for the essay. 

"Well, would you mind to share? Nobody else is willing to..." He had to look up again, now that her voice turned suddenly sad and she lost her superior demeanor. 

"Alright. Let me just finish these last two sentences," Harry shrugged his shoulders carelessly and stared at the huge grin that instantly lighted the girl's face up.

"Thanks! I'm Hermione, by the way. And you must be... Harry, right?"

"Right." 

It was slow and tentative at first. They would sit together in the library, sometimes exchange a word or two in the common room, but nothing else really happened. Both were too shy to develop their relationship. If it wasn't for Ron's stupidity, they might have never grown brave enough to actually become friends. And if it wasn't for the ugly bruise that Harry left under the redhead's eye, Ron might have never respected him for 'being a man after all' then. How ridiculous they were in their childish naiveté and carelessness. Laughing quietly at his treasured memories, Harry wrote:

Dear Hermione,

I am afraid I wouldn't be able to correspond with you as often as I used to, due to the danger that my new job poses to both me and you. This letter is a lucky opportunity for me to finally reach out for you, since I can't really keep any kind of personal correspondence. It is being checked by my employer.

I will not disclose any names for your own sake. Just know that I did what I had to do, with you on my mind. You and your story. 

Funny, I think I will never forget the day we first met at the library, nor would I forget the day we last saw each other by that plane... Hermione, I am so happy you have escaped that horrible fate, so grateful we were able to help you run before your birthday and the branding that would have surely followed. It is with some twisted sense of gratefulness as well I thank the Dark Lord for marking people as cattle only when they reach their legal age. 

I am working for the Dark Lord now, by the way, for one of his generals. This is enough for you to know. Why am I doing this? Because I want to set mom free and I have already arranged that, actually... The price for her freedom is high yet there is nothing I wouldn't do for her. Or for you. I know you'd say it's crazy, that you never asked me to do any such thing, but... It is now I think I would have been torn between choosing whom of you to save, were you still here...

Mom and dad would leave Britain for good in just a few days. Don't ask what I had to give in return for that - I will not tell you. Though you are a very smart girl, I think you have already figured it out. Please contact them in two weeks time after you receive this letter. Mom would need all the support you can provide her with, since I will not be able to do that for some time.

No, I won't die, yes, it's dangerous, no, don't worry, and yes, I will be careful. I always am.

Love you and hope that one day we will see each other again .

Forever yours,

HP

Not reading it over, for he was afraid he might decide to rewrite it and disclose even more than he had already done, Harry hastily pushed the folded paper into an envelope, the muggle one in which Hermione's letter came, and changed the address on its front. With a low hoot the owl took off and soon disappeared in the darkening sky, that was being gradually taken over by the low, heavy clouds. After a few days of unbearable heat Britain was going to drown in showering rains. Sighing, Harry lowered his chin on his curled palm and watched the sky through the tall, narrow window, frowning ever so slightly to himself, burdened with many unhappy thoughts...

It was quite easy to agree to become a Death Eater, to talk about it, to even think about it, yet... He dreaded the most important moment, he dreaded the marking ceremony, for he was going to meet the Dark Lord himself and what would become of that encounter he could not predict, was terrified to even imagine. Harry was certain his cover would be blown and he would die right then and there at the feet of the tyrant, whom he once used to hate and now even found it in himself to be grateful to the psychotic murderer. Harry has gotten rather tired of wondering if he had gone insane...

"Mister Potter?" Lucius called for him softly, coming closer. The young wizard still looked sad, heartbroken, looked ill. And Lucius felt somewhat responsible, although, he wasn't truly at fault... He knew too well the pain of a young heart, that lost what was most sacred. "Are you done? I believe you can finish the rest at the manor, we should really be going now. I have no wish to stay here any longer."

"Yes, sir," Harry replied solemnly, putting everything together and packing into his robe's inner pocket. 

"You should really cheer up, young man," Lucius tried, looking at him kindly, "No need to be so gloomy when everything is going so well." 

"You are right, sir," he nodded in agreement, as they walked towards the gates of the school to apparate directly into Malfoy Manor. "I believe I am simply tired, that's all... Not that I am complaining, certainly not!" he added hastily, looking up at his boss shyly.

"Of course you aren't," Lucius smiled. "You do know that it is rather natural and human to get worked up sometimes?" he asked humourously, patting the young wizard's thin shoulder. "And you are a true hard worker, Mr Potter, and for that you have my honest and eternal respect."

"Thank you," Harry blushed, averting his gaze.

That's right, this is how it was supposed to be between them. And just in a few days this lovely boy would be completely his. Of course, Harry would suffer depression and grief after he sees his parents out of his life forever, but it was a necessary experience one had to receive in order to grow as a person, as a man. Pain and loss helped one to toughen up and lose most of his illusions, that certainly brought no use but only distracted the mind and disturbed the already broken heart. 

Dinner turned out to be a boring affair. Narcissa kept to herself, intentionally ignoring everybody around her and paging through some magazine; she had barely touched her food at all, and when Lucius asked her politely about her health - a cold glare was what he received. Draco was absent, to their shared relief. All in all it was mostly a dinner for two, for when the mistress of the manor haughtily left, the wizards finally relaxed and even talked.

"Mr Potter," Lucius began, sipping on his bourbon, when their deserts were finished, "There is something I have to tell you. Or rather, a task that I should give you."

"Yes, sir?" Harry readily answered, putting down his teacup. He didn't feel like drinking alcohol tonight.

"Mr Riddle asked my permission to use your services," the dark wizard frowned slightly, as he spoke, absentmindedly stroking his chin with his fingers, "He would like to see you tomorrow at his home, where you have already visited."

"Mr Riddle?" he repeated dumbly. And again simply thinking of that odd man made him feel a hurricane of many different emotions. Harry was still wary of him. "But what kind of a service is he looking for? Doesn't he have his own assistant or a servant?" he asked uncertainly, not sure if it was alright to speak of another high ranking wizard in such a familiar, disrespectful manner. Though, what was Riddle’s rank he had no way of knowing…

"As a matter of fact he has plenty of those, who could help him," Lucius noted snidely, "But he needs you specifically. What for - I have no idea, he never told me. He is a man of many mysteries and he enjoys it when we lose our minds trying to solve his riddles."

"Yes, I have already realized that." 

How strange, what could that wizard possibly want from him again? Talk some more? Get his book back? Though it was, technically, Harry's... 

"Do not worry, Mr Potter, if he asks something inappropriate of you - simply refuse. I will clear it up with him later."

"How do you mean, inappropriate?" Harry suddenly blushed, feeling how his ears burned with shame. When Malfoy used this word he always thought of the things he never dared to even dream about. The things the fair haired wizard could do to him. Pleasant things.

Laughing softly, Lucius purred, "I mean inappropriate in a professional sense, Mr Potter. He might ask you to do something that you as a kindhearted person wouldn't want to do simply because you follow your strict principles. Violence, Mr Potter, I mean solely that and nothing else."

"Oh," Harry coughed uncomfortably, berating himself for being so stupid and so... Childish! How could he think of sex all the time when his life was in a permanent danger? "I hope it wouldn't come to that, though. Mr Riddle and I had that talk and as far as I understand he knows I am not that kind of a person. Not the one who would..." He trailed off, furrowing his brow. After their conversation he started asking himself if he was truly weak, if it was a disadvantage - to be so soft like him. 

"He is a difficult person," Lucius told him quietly, after considering what to say to that. "He is also a challenging person. Whatever he does - there is always a reason behind his actions. Everything and everyone has a purpose in his countless plots and schemes and games... But you shouldn't be afraid of him, Mr Potter. Believe me, he is much more than what meets the eye, he is much deeper than what he lets you think he is."

"As are you, sir," Harry sighed and widened his eyes fearfully, when he realized that he had actually said that out loud. Be damned his long tongue!

"Am I?" Lucius couldn't help but grin at the compliment, that was so easily and sincerely executed. "Why, you flatter me, Mr Potter." 

"Excuse me, I shouldn't speak out of- " he began apologizing, but was interrupted and silenced into a stupor with a long, thin, pale finger that Malfoy pressed against Harry's mouth. Feeling the cool and soft skin on his lips was not only unusual and odd, but also vaguely alluring. It took all of his self-control to not to try and lick on it.

"No, Mr Potter, don't apologize for being nice to me, please, this is such a rare virtue I have the pleasure of experiencing sometimes," Lucius sighed languidly, smiling and staring at the red lips that kept quivering underneath his index finger. He didn't know what kind of a demon had gotten into him that he crossed the boundaries so suddenly and so brutally. Oh, but he regretted nothing. "I order you to never apologize for speaking your mind," he added teasingly and reluctantly pulled his hand away, having had slid his finger lower - it made Harry involuntarily lick on his lips that became dry from desire.

"Yes, Mr Malfoy, sir," he breathed out, overwhelmed and horribly aroused. 

This was so wrong! His mind seemed to be set on fire - it was torn between making the right decision: running away or going even further. Leaving like a coward that he was or staying and... And what? Would this man try anything else? Wasn't this just a part of his game? Harry couldn't seriously believe that somebody like Malfoy would actually fall for somebody like him. The haughty aristocrat must be bored to death and now has such a wonderful opportunity to play with an obedient toy.

"Splendid," Lucius purred, barely restraining himself from touching the wizard even more. "And I would like to say that you are a very sweet young man, Mr Potter. And now we are even," he laughed mirthfully, feeling the warmth spreading through his body and concentrating in his abdomen. It had been so long since he had this, this wonderful freedom of a pleasant flirt with a person he genuinely liked and wanted. Wanted like mad. 

Harry didn't know what to say, he blushed fiercely instead and hurriedly hung his head down, biting on his lower lip in a delightful nervousness of anticipation. Something was telling him Malfoy's game would take a more personal, intimate way of execution... And despite his better judgement and common sense he couldn't wait for it to happen. 

xxx

The dusty, gloomy house hadn't changed a bit since his first and last visit. Malfoys' elf brought him directly into the hall before the door that he already knew very well and just a moment later it opened on its own accord.

"Come in, Harry." The raspy, low voice of the host called for him from inside. 

Harry tentatively stepped into the room, clutching the book of the House of Potter close to his chest. He had to spend the night making a copy of it, for he doubted that the wizard would lend it to him again. In fact, he had his suspicion that Riddle had given him such a short term on purpose, as if he wanted him to make a copy or work out any other way of keeping the priceless treasure to himself. Yes, he was indeed keen on playing psychological games with others. 

"Good afternoon, Mr Riddle," he greeted the man quietly, though couldn't see him anywhere, "Mr Malfoy said you needed my services?" 

"Yes, yes, I do." 

Harry heard the voice right above his left ear and turned sharply around, breathless and alarmed. The maimed wizard stood right behind him, boring his red eyes into his. 

"Ah, I see you brought the book back," Voldemort hummed and held out his hand to take the tome from the scared boy. "How very thoughtful of you."

"Y-yes, sir," Harry stammered out, "Excuse me, I didn't expect that you would..."

"You need to work on your fighting skills, Harry," Voldemort informed him in a bored tone, walking towards the cases to put the book away, "Your reaction and reflexes leave much to be desired. If you are going to serve the Dark Lord you must keep yourself in a good shape. Who knows what kind of action would you be forced into?" 

"You know... Sir?" Harry asked repentantly, looking away in shame. 

He still couldn't come in terms with his upcoming marking and here was Lucius telling his friends all about it. Had he told Snape as well? All the more reasons to keep practicing Occlumency. No reflexes would save him from the intrusion on his mind. 

"Yes, I do. But I am the only one who knows, so do not work yourself up so hard there," Voldemort chuckled, seeing how red and displeased Harry looked. "Lucius simply needed my advice, so he had to tell me. Well, the Dark Lord knows too, of course, he wouldn't mark a complete stranger, now, would he?" he asked, terribly amused by the idea. 

"No, I believe he wouldn't," Harry mumbled uncomfortably. 

He dreaded to meet the famous warlock, he had even seen a few nightmares about him already. Although he didn't know what Voldemort looks like, so in his dreams he took on a form of a shadow, that kept strangling Harry until he woke up in cold sweat, screaming on the verge if his constricted lungs. 

"Take a seat, Harry, don't stand there like a statue," Voldemort sighed humourously, waving his hand lazily for the boy to make himself comfortable. 

He then moved to sit behind his desk, that was buried under papers and scrolls, many different trinkets and insignificant inventions he had been playing with from time to time. Weakened by his sickness he hadn't had the power to wield actual magic and had to fall as low as to crafting something with his bare hands. He simply needed something else to distract himself from the exhausting work of a leader of the magical community, since he clearly wasn't able to magically torture and curse others. 

"Now, tell me, how is your family moving abroad progressing?" 

Of course he knew everything, Lucius had always been very accurate in his reports, but he wished to hear the boy out, wished to know how Harry felt about it, for, judging from his employer's words, he was devastated. 

"Oh, it's... It is going well, I suppose," Harry answered awkwardly, stealing a tentative glance at the wizard, who was now seated against the daylight, that was streaming into the room in wide, separate rays through the thin, creamy curtain over the window. He looked almost human, with all of his injures being hidden in the shadows - the illusion of darkness that his black hair created around his face. 

Riddle looked menacing, but also enticing in his mysterious and almost ethereal appearance. He was a walking deadman, a wicked witch from a scary tale that frightens children into obedience. But he was also fascinating, his power drew Harry towards him, like a moth to a flame - he was afraid he might get burnt. 

"You must be happy that they are going to live abroad, that your mother will be free..." Voldemort drawled, peering at him and rubbing his bony hands together. 

"I am, sir," Harry nodded. 

"Could have fooled me," the Dark Lord chuckled mirthlessly and sighed forlornly, mostly to himself. "Alright, Harry, let's get down to business, as they say. I need your brain and your creativity," he said nonchalantly, opening one of the files, that were laid out on his desk.

"My creativity?" Harry was confused. 

"Oh yes, I know you are a very smart boy, Harry," Voldemort smiled cunningly at him. "I am certain you have heard of the man, that escaped arrest, the one from the Resistance. He hasn't been found yet and this truly ridiculous situation must be changed."

"From the Resistance?" Wasn't that the wizard, who blew up the docks and went into hiding, the wizard whom Peter Pettigrew couldn't find and was punished for that severely? "But h-how can I..." Harry felt his feet went numb and his knees started shaking, as did his hands. He couldn't help Death Eaters catch one of his father's comrades, could he? 

"Mh-mm," Voldemort hummed, not looking up but inspecting the papers instead. He then realized that he was asked a question and raised his eyes at the young man, who was once again horribly pale and obviously terrified. "Why are you so nervous about it, Harry?" He tilted his head to the side, and his red eyes narrowed dangerously. 

"I... I saw what Mr Malfoy did to Mr Pettigrew, sir..." Harry mumbled pathetically. He tried to breathe and keep his mind shields strong. He couldn't fuck it up, not now when his parents were so close to being freed.

"Oh?" Yes, he completely forgot that he sent the rat to be punished by Lucius, he was too weak to do it on his own. "Good, you won't let us down, then," he barked out a low, rasp laugh. 

"B-but I don't understand, how... If Mr Pettigrew couldn't find him..." he stammered helplessly, blushing and twisting his hands underneath his robe.

"Harry, Harry, you are too hard on yourself. You are a talented spell-crafter and you are not ignorant of the dark magic, therefore, you are capable of many great things. You simply have to believe in yourself," Voldemort teased him, feeling how unexpectedly easy it was to talk to the boy, even though the latter was nervous and frightened. "I am quite certain you can come up with something efficient."

Biting on his lower lip and frantically trying to calm himself down Harry blurted out, "But I am not qualified, I never studied anything remotely connected with such complex spell structures, it would be a ritual even... I... Isn't there anybody amongst Death Eaters who-"

"Stop," Voldemort raised his hand and Harry instantly shut up, turning a precarious shade of red in his face. "Now, breathe." 

He let out a shaky breath and his shoulders slumped down involuntarily. Riddle kept looking at him with that strange expression on his face, as if he knew everything, as if he knew who Harry really was, and that was exactly what scared him so much. 

"You see, Harry," he began, upon sensing that the boy was finally able to listen and digest information, "First of all, if I turned to you for help, it means that there are really no other candidates. Second, you must be tested, as a future Death Eater you are obliged to pass a test before you will be given the Mark. The Dark Lord must be certain of your loyalty and your intentions must be clear to him." 

And they were. He simply wanted to know which side of Harry's personality would take over in this little battle of wills: his gryffindorish pride and fear of betraying his 'friends' or his slytherin rationality and guile, fear of painful death. He simply wanted to know how far would the lovely assistant go in order to save his family and himself. Because there was nothing that prevented Lucius from bringing the Potters back into the country and executing them for treason. It was another pretty lie they fed to the society - that anybody could be free from the regime within the border. 

"I see," Harry gulped down the bile, that threatened to pour out of his throat. 

So this was Riddle's job then? Approving of the future servants of the Dark Lord? What a truly dirty trade... And what is he going to do? If he helps Riddle catch that wizard, the Resistance would know and they would certainly punish him... He prayed that the day after tomorrow came sooner - his parents would escape this Hell forever. 

"I am afraid I will greatly disappoint you, sir, I have no idea how to find this man." 

"Oh, but you do, you simply have to think harder," Voldemort grinned as much as the gash in his cheek let him and stood up, holding the file out for the boy to take. "And to think harder one must be provided with a proper motivation. Follow me," he hooked his long, bony index finger at Harry and glided out of the study. 

They went down the stairs and Harry shivered more and more as they gradually walked further and lower into the dungeons of the huge, half abandoned and ruined mansion - only one wing was adjusted to be lived in, it seemed. Everything else was covered in dirt, dust, and was falling apart and slowly rotting away. Just like Riddle himself, who didn't pay it any heed it seemed.

There, underneath the house, was a labyrinth of cells and tiny rooms, closed behind heavy iron locks, and somewhere far and deep in the darkness of the dump corridors groans of pain and sufferings could be heard. Harry barely breathed, clutching the papers close to his chest and following Riddle in some kind of a haze. He hoped he was dreaming, but the fact that his legs kept moving told him this was a wishful thinking. So this dark, maimed wizard, the genius warlock and scientist, was a sadist and a personal inquisitor of the Dark Lord? Harry would have laughed if somebody had told him that he would make such a 'friend' one day. 

Voldemort habitually pushed the door open with his foot and took the gloves from the table, that stood right at the entrance into the torturing chamber. Peter Pettigrew hung chained to the wall, covered in his own blood and vomit, and a small puddle of piss and shit spread a horrible aroma underneath him. 

"Hello, Peter, how are you today?" he murmured, putting the gloves on and coming closer. The boy froze at the threshold, clearly seeing such a scene for the first time in his life. "If you want to throw up, Harry, there is a bowl somewhere on the lower shelves on the left. Magic can't be used here, so it is better you don't retch on the floor." 

Pettigrew tried to greet him, but his tongue had been torn out and so only an incomprehensible moaning escaped his lips.

"Yes, yes, Peter, it is a fine day indeed," Voldemort mocked him and patted on the obese abdomen, watching the fat shake slightly from his touch. "I believe you are familiar with Mr Potter here," he waved his hand in the direction of the young wizard, "He came to learn of proper motivation and of the consequences that always follow one's actions."

Pettigrew wailed and started shaking his head vehemently, staring at Harry with wide eyes, full of horror. He tried to tell him something, his whole body kept jerking, as if pointing at Riddle, but Harry couldn't understand what was the man's message. He already knew that the maimed wizard was dangerous and cruel and that he, Harry, might very well fall his victim too. 

"O-oo-mor," Pettigrew kept trying to pronounce the name, "Ol-ol-e-mor!" 

"Yes, yes, Peter, relax, he will find out soon, don't spoil the surprise," Voldemort chided him and produced a short, but very sharp knife out of the nearest leather case, that lay on his right. "Now, Harry, I want to make it clear with you: you won't be tortured if you ever make a mistake or betray the Dark Lord. Your punishment would be different - it is always strictly individual for each and every Death Eater, depends on their intellectual and magical skills. Peter, for example, had always been a useless piece of meat, a rat that he is, he always did the dirty job for others... But a rat is a rat, it must be killed to prevent the decease it caries from spreading out. However," he stopped and pressed the tip of the blade against his dry, cracked lips, as if in deep thought, "Rats are rather smart, don't you think? No, Peter is not a rat, he is a bag of shit and that is why he is dying in such an unpleasant fashion." 

Harry wasn't fast enough to notice the swift movement, he only heard the sound of the blade slashing through the air and then a high-pitched screeching, that vaguely reminded him of a pig at a slaughter - the knife cut straight across the huge abdomen and the insides instantly fell out. Pettigrew lost consciousness. 

"Merlin," Harry gritted out and barely managed to grab onto the bowl to throw up. He had never seen anything so morbid and gory and outright sick before. And Riddle stood there, looking at the guts, that were spread on the floor, and a cruel, insane smile played on his lips. 

"You should get used to this eventually, Harry. It is a mandatory part of the job."

"I would... never kill... Or... torture another..." he bit out, retching and squeezing his eyes tightly shut. Lucius’ words about the desire of vengeance came to his mind, and with a twisted kind of pleasure Harry realized that he couldn’t find anything even remotely joyful and satisfying in seeing his supposed enemy being punished and killed. 

"Ah, I know that already, Harry. You won't harm anybody, but you will have to watch others do that. You will have to watch and learn, for you never know... When you might need such skills," Voldemort mused out loud, smiling cunningly at the pale and scared young man, who sat on the floor, shaking feverishly. 

"Why is he still alive?" Harry suddenly asked, seeing that Pettigrew was in fact breathing, even despite the amounts of blood that he was losing.

A cruel grin stretched Riddle's lips. "This is the point of this torture, Harry. He will wake up to see his insides out of his body and feel the pain to lose consciousness again, and then wake up once more and keep existing in this vicious circle for as long as I want him to. The whole concept of a true torture is not that it is followed by death, but that it is based on the anticipation of death as a final relief. The victim doesn't have to really die to suffer the worst kind of pain, both physical and mental. No, the life itself is the worst punishment for most of us." 

Harry didn't know what to say to that. He tried to imagine what Riddle used to be like in his youth when he wrote the journal - was he just the same bitter and broken man with no joy in his life? Or had he had a chance of being a child at least for a short period of time? He wondered what were the wizard's parents like, why had he grown up like this in their care - perhaps, they were the darkest and the cruelest kind of wizards there is? He wasn't frightened by the words the man said, he was frightened by the hollow and uncaring tone in which they were pronounced. Riddle seemed truly dead on the inside and it made Harry horribly sad, he felt tears gather up in his eyes. Despite his better judgement he sincerely pitied the poor wizard...

"You are so young, Harry, so naive and kind," murmured Voldemort, shaking his head. The boy was too good to spoil, really. "There would be a lot of unpleasant discoveries in the future, you would soon learn how truly unfair and ugly our life is. Brace yourself." He threw the knife onto the table and pushed his gloved hand deep inside Pettigrew's now empty belly and reached out for his kidneys to tear them down as well. "So you said, that it would be a ritual?"

"What?" Harry mumbled, mesmerized by an unbearably atrocious display. He had no breakfast left to throw up. "Y-yes... Y-yes, it must be a ritual with more than three components and, and... something personal from the man, that must be found..." he stammered out, frantically trying to focus on everything that he knew about such sort of magic and to abstract his mind from what he was seeing.

"See? You are already making a huge progress, child," Voldemort chuckled and took off the gloves. "Alright, that is enough for the first time, let's return into the study and I would select a few books from my collection for you to read and, probably, find something useful for your task." 

Harry hadn't notice how did they get back, as if drugged he humbly followed the tall dark shadow and all of a sudden he was seated on a sofa amongst the numerous books - he couldn't help but wonder if he had left at all... 

"Advanced arithmacy, theory of magical numbers, theory of winds," Voldemort was quietly counting the books, as he stood before one of the furthest cases in the study. "Water magic? No, no, it is too advanced for an inexperienced child, perhaps, later..."

Harry turned to look back at Riddle with a question on the tip of his tongue, but he hesitated to proceed. How insane would it be to ask the wizard if he had fallen asleep just now, or if Riddle had sent him this horrible vision on purpose? 

"It wasn't a dream, Harry," he chuckled and coughed mirthfully, having had guessed what was on the young man's mind just by that ridiculous look on his face. "If you wish to receive such lessons as seldom as I allow it, then you will have to earn my benevolence with your hard work. You are more than capable."

"Why do you have such a strong faith in me, sir?" Harry dared to ask instead. 

He truly couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that Riddle believed in him, constantly pushed him and encouraged him in his own slightly perverted, extravagant way. Nobody had ever tried so hard for his sake before, nobody except Hermione, but she was his best friend, she was, strictly speaking, supposed to do that, while Riddle... Remained a complete mystery. 

Taken aback by the question he should have been expecting to arise, Voldemort lifted his thin shoulders up indifferently and simply passed the wizard a few books he had chosen. 

"I don't have faith in people, Harry, what I do believe in, though," he replied thoughtfully, circling the sofa and lowering himself next to the boy, "Is the limitless opportunities of a human brain, talents, and, most of all, I believe in human nature, which is so, so-o-oo easy to predict." He offered Harry a crooked smile full of sharp teeth. "You see, people are very unreliable, unworthy of being put a faith in, however, their nature is. You can always expect a human being, be they a wizard or a muggle, to fear for their own life, to be jealous of others, to choke on greed, to be ready to do whatever it takes to profit in one way or another. Predictable, definite, reliable."

"So what does it make me, sir?" Harry found it to be very hard to accept Riddle's view of the world. He was certain that not everybody was like that. He hoped there were still a few good people left. 

“You are also predictable, though, I must admit not as nearly predictable as everybody else. All I know for certain is that you would do anything to save your parents, but apart from that,” Riddle spread his hands and lifted his shoulders up rather comically, “You are a mystery to me, Harry. Which is truly a miracle, for I have been slowly rotting away from boredom here.” His rasp chuckles made his thin body shake slightly, and his eyes, although scary and blood red in their colour, radiated mirthfulness. 

Harry smiled involuntarily and blushed at the questionable praise, but praise nonetheless. 

“And as I have already said: I believe in talents, brain, creativity – you possess all of these in abundance, child. I see no reason for you to feel so down on yourself, you must take pride in what magic and nature had graced you with,” he added musingly, watching the boy all the while. Indeed, Harry could have been easily swayed to their side by being liked and appreciated for what he was, and that was the easiest task he could ever imagine for himself – he didn’t even have to lie and flatter, for all that he was saying was elementary true. 

“You are too kind, Mr Riddle,” Harry murmured, but the image of Pettigrew chained to the wall and butchered like a pig once again appeared before his eyes and he hurried to close them resentfully. 

Smiling almost imperceptibly, for the gesture hadn’t gone unnoticed to him, Voldemort leaned a little closer to the young wizard and whispered, “I can be very cruel, Harry, but I can also be very, very gentle… It all depends on what you personally prefer,” he laughed soundlessly at that, seeing how fiercely Harry reddened at the tiny innuendo. “The line between pain and pleasure is so terribly thin, most can’t even notice the difference…” 

“I, I… You don’t mean… Sir,” Harry was breathless yet again.

“No, no, Harry, please,” Voldemort barked out a laugh and fell back on the pillows, grinning jocosely at the poor boy, “I am simply playing you! Do not worry, your body and your secret desires are solely Lucius’s area, I wouldn’t want to intrude on that now, would I?” 

“Well… I wouldn’t know, would I?” Harry suddenly retorted, having had gained quite a handful of boldness after being so horribly frightened and aroused at the same time. He felt he was ready to strangle both Riddle and Malfoy for teasing him so unfairly all the time. 

“Oh, cheeky!” The Dark Lord perked up at that, pleasantly surprised and intrigued by Harry’s little outburst. The boy finally began showing his true self. It wouldn’t take him long to reveal his real personality once he starts working with the Death Eaters, once the dark magic would become an inalienable part of his very existence. “I like that, Harry. Do more. This is another task for you – next time you come to me with a solution to our little ‘resistance problem’, you will also do or say something that a real Harry Potter would have done or said, were he not so shy and modest.”

Harry stared at him as if he was seeing him for the first time, though he shouldn’t have been surprised, really. Hadn’t Malfoy told him that Riddle particularly enjoyed playing with others’ minds? This was exactly what the warlock was doing now – provoking him. 

“Alright, sir,” he promised carefully. 

“Splendid,” Voldemort smirked and folded his bony hands together in his lap. “Now go, Harry, I don’t want to waste your precious time with an old man’s blabbering. Say, why won’t we meet on Monday, hm?”

Harry saw and felt that this wasn’t a friendly suggestion but an order. He had only five days to come up with a solution – he had less than a week before they will brand him. His heart was thumping in his ears and he kept telling himself that it was alright, quite alright, his parents would be freed much earlier, all he has to do is to survive until that date, and then… And then… 

“Yes, sir,” he whispered, swallowing hard. 

The Dark Lord waved his hand lazily in the wizard’s direction and watched him leave through the door, that opened at his silent command. Harry was scared to death, he didn’t need any legilimency to tell him that. Everything was going very well so far, for this reaction was the right kind – only a gryffindor fool wouldn’t have been frightened. Now all he had to do was to wait for a few days and see what Harry would do. Voldemort, although he hardly could admit this to himself, hoped that the boy would do the right thing, the slytherin thing. Lucius was right - it would be a shame to lose such a promising young warlock, when they had so few truly talented and reliable alliances. Sighing to himself and looking around absentmindedly in wonder, Voldemort pondered over how would Harry react to the fact, that all this time he had been having little chit-chats with the Dark Lord himself... He couldn’t help but cackle quietly, as he imagined the boy’s astonished look. Oh yes, he just couldn’t wait.

xxx 

Harry put Riddle’s journal to the side with a heavy sigh and stretched his neck. He dared to look through the curses and spells, that were scribbled inside, but none of them were of any use to him in his difficult task. He tiredly glanced at his desk, that was buried under papers with different variations of a ritual’s formula, papers from the file of the wanted man, the man’s personal belongings that somebody brought to Lucius’ office the previous morning…

“Master, you is waited in the hall!” Dobby soundlessly appeared in front of him and Harry jumped up in his seat, startled.

“Oh, Dobby! Is it the time already? Alright, alright… I’m coming down,” he mumbled, creasing his eyebrows and yawning again and again. 

He hadn’t slept the night. Not because of the hard work, but because it was the last night. Tonight his parents would be freed. He raised his eyes to gaze at the window, that was all wet and dewy from the rain, that just wouldn’t stop. Thunder could be heard somewhere very far away and once in a while Harry would catch a glimpse of a lightning cutting through the thick black clouds. What a nightmare… Anxiety nestled in his heart and he kept jerking his left leg nervously, counting the minutes until the appointed hour. The time passed intentionally slowly, stretching his torture some more. 

Maybe I shouldn’t go at all, he mused, as he descended the stairs, maybe it would be better for them to leave without seeing me? But how could he miss an opportunity to see his parents for the last time? But it wouldn’t make everything alright, now, would it? Harry felt his head was going to explode - so much it hurt, so fast his heart beat in his throat. 

“Ready, Mr Potter?” Lucius met him in the hall and looked his assistant over with a worried frown marring his features. “You must know that you are not obliged to attend, if you do not wish to go, it would be perfectly understandable-“

“I… I am ready, sir. I want to see them off,” Harry whispered, staring down at his shoes. He knew that if he looked into Malfoy’s face, the man would certainly convince him to stay.

“Fine,” Lucius sighed, feeling surprisingly angry all of a sudden. However, what or who was that anger aimed at, he had no idea. “Take my hand, Mr Potter, I will apparate us to the appointed place, and then we will travel by a portkey straight to the border.” 

Jerking his head in silent understanding, Harry obediently put his palm over Malfoy’s silky sleeve of a robe and held onto it tightly. He didn’t have to blink twice – they were already standing somewhere in the middle of nowhere, amidst the moors, next to a ruined bridge, that crossed a dried up river. A man in a dark raincoat, thrown over his velvet robe, approached them, holding an umbrella high above his head, and signed for them to take it. No words had been spoken, although it would have been hard to decipher them anyway, since the sound of showering rain and thunder was deafening. It seemed as if the soil was made of steel – so loudly the raindrops banged on it. A gust of wind made Harry shiver involuntarily and he wrapped his cloak tighter around himself, whispering a warming spell under his breath. It didn’t help. He wasn’t cold because of weather – it was a dread-cold, the one, that always comes when you least of all welcome it.

“Well, Mr Potter, this is the last step,” Lucius told him, holding the umbrella lightly in his gloved hand and watching the man in the raincoat walk away towards the bridge. He then turned to look at his assistant, who was paler than snow. “It is still not too late to turn back, you can still return to the manor and let me handle this.” 

“No, no, I’ve come so far, sir, I… I wouldn’t go back now,” Harry shook his head vehemently and grabbed onto the bended wooden handle. “Not now. I must see this through.” 

“You are such a gryffindor sometimes, Mr Potter,” Lucius sighed again and with a final glance at the face of the scared wizard he murmured the password, “Farewell.” 

Harry didn’t have the pleasure of traveling by a portkey very often, in fact, he had used it only twice in his life – both times when Sirius and James took him to the World Cup Quidditch match four years ago. He couldn’t say he enjoyed that experience then, nor could he say it was particularly likable now. Malfoy had to hold him by the shoulder to help him stand on his feet, after they’ve landed hard onto the barren ground of a seashore. The rocks, sharp and angular like animal fangs, stuck out of the soil, hiding the raging sea behind themselves. The sound of the waves slapping onto the rocks was overwhelming, akin to a roar of a dying beast – it made Harry’s heart jump up into his throat again. Terrified, he was absolutely terrified of what was going to happen.

“Perfect, we arrived right on time,” Lucius mused out loud and confidently strode towards what seemed to be a hidden staircase, cut out of stone between the rocks. Harry hurried up to follow him, shivering and barely holding back groans of desperation and sudden exhaustion, that has come over him.

Down there by the end of the staircase a small clearance could be seen. There he saw his parents and four guards, dressed as Death Eaters, standing by a pentagram drawn with chalk and sealed with runes. A water repellent charm was cast on it and it stood out sharply against the wet black ground and the dark grey sea that gradually melted into the sky at the horizon. Harry squinted, trying to see clearer through the fog.

“Careful, Mr Potter, the steps are slippery. Hold on to me if you must,” Malfoy offered nonchalantly and slowly began his descend. There was nothing he could do, against his own will Harry grabbed onto the man’s arm, for he felt he would faint right here and right now, if he hadn’t. 

He thought he never saw his parents look like this before. He never really thought them to be old until this very moment. But they looked awful. Harry could only swallow harshly and gulp down the excuses and pleas that were ready to burst from his lips.

“Mom, dad,” he rasped instead, coughing to clear his throat and to hide his nervousness. 

“Harry,” James greeted him sternly, but nothing else came out of his mouth. He kept staring at the boy who wasn’t a boy anymore and tried to understand… But he didn’t even know what exactly was there to understand. He simply couldn’t accept this. Any of this, he never intended any of this to escalate into a total fuck-up. All thanks to Harry.

“I, the Senior Undersecretary of Magical Great Britain,” Lucius decided it was better to get done with this as soon as possible, “Hereby proclaim James Charlus Potter and Lily Potter nee Evans free of the Dark regime. As ordered by the Dark Lord himself you are bound to cross the boarder and to never come back to Great Britain under any circumstances. The penalty would be death by magic, that seals the boarders of our country. Once you’ve crossed it – there is no going back. So mote it be.” 

The guards took their places at the runes, drawn on the ground, and each pointed their wands into the center of the pentagram, waiting for the fifth corner to be taken by Malfoy. 

“Mr and Mrs Potter, be so kind as to take step into the center, the ritual would begin now.”

“Can’t we say our goodbyes at least?!” James sputtered angrily at the dark wizard, who was clearly enjoying the situation. 

“Why yes, you can,” Lucius smiled at him indulgently and raised his wand high enough to turn the gesture into a warning, “Out of the center of the pentagram.”

“Please, go and stand where you’re ought to,” Harry finally managed to croak and stole a glance at the sullen faces of the people he used to love so much and now was saving, but why did it feel like he was betraying them instead? 

“Harry, it’s not worth it, our freedom is not worth you becoming a slave to the Dark!” Lily blurted out. “Stop this, stop this at once! Or come with us!” Her eyes kept rolling wildly in their sockets and she resembled an insane witch, that lives in the moors and haunts little children. Grief or fear, whatever it was, something changed her and Harry could hardly recognize his mother anymore.

“Only two can cross, and Harry is not one of them,” Lucius said softly, though his voice didn’t sound condescending or kind, in fact it sounded menacing and impatient. “If you refuse to cross now you both will be punished and your son will be as well. Would you want that? I think not. Accept your freedom while you have the chance and let your son take his.” 

“How could you, Harry, how could you?!” James shouted, as invisible binds tied him and Lily up and forcibly placed them both inside the hexagon. 

“I have already told you, dad, I did what I had to. I have no regrets. The most important thing is that you both will be safe out there,” Harry sighed, not daring to look up. 

And in his head a music played, a march of some sort, he didn’t know its name or its composer, it was simply a loud obnoxious kind of music that was now filling his ears and thoughts, as he tried to distance himself from what was happening. Doubt, doubt was eating his heart, his gut was trembling and his stomach kept churning. Harry felt sick, hot and cold at the same time. And that damned rain just couldn’t stop and kept slapping him on the face, as if already punishing him for making the wrong choice. 

“I love you and that is why I am doing this,” he added a moment later, having had gathered all of his courage.

“What kind of love is that? We never asked for it,” Lily whined pitifully, “I never asked you to save me!” 

Looking back warily at Malfoy, Harry stepped closer towards them and murmured barely above whisper, that was almost instantly whisked away by the wind, and because of that sounded more like an angry hissing, “You wanted me to become one of them – this is the price you will have to pay. You should be grateful it’s me who will die, not you.” 

What had suddenly gotten into him he had no idea, but his own harsh words hit him back on the cheek and, reddening in embarrassment, Harry backed away, trying as hard as he could to hold back the tears. Those were a rare kind, he never really cried before in his life. But now it felt as if all of his frustration, exhaustion and grief were pent up inside his chest and burned on his eyes – a traitorous teardrop fell down from his long black eyelashes onto his lower lip.

“They brainwashed you, didn’t they,” James bit out angrily, clearly not seeing the tears of his son on his already wet face. “Look at you, you’ve manned up, you talk and walk just like he does,” he added snidely and threw a disgusted look at Malfoy, who kept clicking his tongue and magically drying his expensive robes.

“We haven’t done anything to him yet, Potter, calm down,” Lucius drawled lazily, not sparing the wizard another glance, “All the brainwashing would occur after he is marked.”

“Harry, please,” Lily cried pitifully.

“No, mom,” he shook his head, biting on the inside of his cheek and tasting blood on his tongue. “This is what has to be done. I am sorry this is not what you’ve been expecting from me, but, in all honesty, I can’t even imagine what exactly did you have in mind for me…”

“I don’t recognize you,” she mumbled, looking at him with that hollow, lifeless gaze he was already used to.

“I don’t recognize you either, mom,” Harry replied, letting out a shattered breath. “I want you to be alive, free, happy again, I can’t stand the sight of you when you are like this. You must live and bloom – this is the mother I remember and love, not the bitter, broken woman that is standing here now in front of me.”

The more nervous, the more uncertain he felt about this whole affair, the harsher, fairer words floated out of him like a fast stream, he simply couldn’t stop it. Everything there was that he ever wanted to tell her – he knew this was his only chance. 

“How dare you to tell your mother such horrible things?” His father sounded genuinely ignorant. 

“This is the simple truth, dad,” he lifted his shoulders up irritably, “Do you remember what it used to be like for the three of us? Do you remember when was the last time you kissed mom on the cheek and embraced her? I do. It was four years ago, when you got drunk on Sirius’ Birthday party. Do you remember what happened then?” Harry kept talking and talking, with his eyes trained solely on the horizon. “Mom slapped you and pushed you away and told you to never touch her again. Should I go on? The last time you held me in your arms, except the recent meeting of ours, was when I won my first Quidditch match six years ago. Have you ever showed me any other sign of affection after that? No.” 

A silence fell, as Harry took a pause to catch his breath. 

“I love you both,” he then continued very quietly, softly. “I love you no matter how much the two of you hurt me, because you are my family, my parents, my only friends I used to have as a child. I am grateful beyond words for everything you have done for me, I am grateful you let me go to Hogwarts and discover that I can do what I couldn’t even dream of doing… But this is the time and place where we part and I say farewell. I am an adult now, it’s my life, be it dangerous or wrong in your point of view – I choose this life and my choice is what you must respect, as I have always respected you and your wishes. Please, make the best of the chance the Dark gives you, please, live well and happily. If not for me, then at least for your own sakes. I am begging you,” he croaked and turned away, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. 

His nose itched and his lips trembled hard, while the heart kept drumming in his throat. It was impossible to hold back on crying. This could very well be their last meeting, their last time together and he had to part with them on the worst terms…

“Well, this was a long and clearly unnecessary prelude,” Lucius piped in and hurriedly took his place at the corner of the pentagram, feeling that Harry was on the verge of breaking into hysteria and that was what they least needed now. “Let’s begin our ritual. Avery, begin the chanting.” 

“Wait, wait!” James shouted, struggling against the binds, but nobody listened – the rumbling of the voices gradually intensified and the magic of the spell tuned him out. He screamed, staring at his son, whose lonely figure grew smaller and dimmer as the boy walked away, unable to look at his parents banishing. His shoulders shook wildly and the last thing James saw was how Harry fell on his knees. And then the darkness and the cold, cold wind enveloped him and Lily. 

A while after they found themselves washed out on the French shore, where a low ranking officer of the Dark was waiting for them, smoking a cheap cigarette and walking barefoot on the wet and sticky sand. James looked behind himself, but there was only sea and the setting sun there – he would never see England or Harry again.

Lucius moaned and stretched his right shoulder with pleasure, when he finally lowered his wand. Others repeated after him, groaning and sighing in relief – the ritual strained them all significantly, this was why it could be performed very rarely, only on special occasions. And Harry Potter seemed to be that particular occasion for their lord. Not that Lucius wasn’t happy with how the events unfolded, but he knew he couldn’t completely trust the Dark Lord on this one. There was a trick, just like Harry thought, there was, but… where?

“Mr Potter?” Lucius came closer to the crying boy, who sat on the ground and kept weeping quietly into his hands, “It is over now. No need to kill yourself over this, everything would be just fine,” he offered kindly and placed his hand onto the wizard’s shoulder.

“Why do I feel like a spoilt child, why am I so selfish, how could I say such terrible things into their faces?” Harry’s wails were muffled by his trembling palms that were tightly pressed against his mouth. 

“But when else would you have said them, dear Mr Potter?” Lucius sighed sympathetically, “I see nothing wrong with being honest with your own parents, of all people. They must know how much they’ve hurt you, even if your offenses seem childish to them – you are their only son, they must understand you and accept you for who you are. Otherwise, what is the point in having a child at all? To make him into an obedient toy, slave, one’s carbon copy? There are spells and potions for that, you know. Parenting mustn’t be a crucible, it must be a blessing.” 

Harry could only squeeze his eyes and shake his head vehemently, incapable of giving an eloquent answer. Lucius never really enjoyed the sight of others’ tears and snot, for he found it to be rather pathetic and all in all despicable. But seeing Harry’s torment, he couldn’t help but feel sorrow. And he didn’t like to experience that – he had had his fair share already.

“Now, now, Mr Potter, pull yourself together,” he tried, crouching next to the young man and shaking him lightly by the arms, “Let us return to the manor and have a good, long, nutritious dinner, shall we? You need rest and a lot of strength to move on and to work on. You have very little time to report to Mr Riddle, don’t forget about that.” 

Malfoy’s soothing voice and warm hands helped Harry wake out of his stupor and he stood up sharply, hastily rubbing the tears off of his face and gulping down the slimy snot, that clogged his throat. “Ye, sir, you’re right, sir, please excuse me for my incompetence.”

“Circe, if this is what the future recruits are going to be like, then we are definitely screwed,” a short stocky man snorted, brushing past Harry and Malfoy, while simultaneously taking his mask off. He looked vaguely familiar, perhaps, his name was Mulciber – Harry was too tired to remember. “Stop fretting over him like some mother hen!” the wizard threw over his shoulder and disappeared along with his laughing comrades.

“You will have to get used to such treatment, Mr Potter,” Lucius sighed in exasperation and absentmindedly straightened the boy’s cloak. “We all have to keep each other on the tips of our toes, otherwise mistakes might occur. And the Dark Lord doesn’t forgive.”

“I’m rather used to this,” Harry mumbled incomprehensibly, “Draco never allowed me to relax.” 

Lucius lifted the corners of his mouth slightly up and patted Harry on the shoulder. The most difficult part of his plan was finally completed. Now everything depended on Harry. The boy was already in the Dark’s filthy greedy hands and wasn’t going anywhere – it was time to put Lucius’ hands on him as well. 

xxx

Harry lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling and crying silently – he cleared his mind of all the thoughts and concentrated on the sensation of his warm tears gliding tenderly down his cheeks and inside his ears. Riddle’s journal lay on his chest – a pleasant weight – and he stroked the tattered cover with the tips of his fingers, not even knowing what he was doing. 

He was torn between grief and relief. Yes, no matter how shameful he thought it was, he felt relieved now that his parents were gone, now that he had given vent to his feelings, expressed everything he had been living with for so many years… Was he right? Did he do the right thing? Harry thought he would drive himself mad by repeating these questions over and over in his head. He would have given a lot to have somebody by his side and tell him just that – that he was right.

He knew he was restless and the sleep wasn’t going to come to him tonight. Harry hid the book under the pillows and tiredly got up, shuffled his bare feet towards the window and sat on the windowsill, looking up into the sky through the opened shuts. The night was chilly and bright, as it usually was after the long, heavy rains. He wandlessly accioed his pack and picked a random cigarette out. It lit up in a blink of an eye and Harry sucked the bitter smoke in, frowning and sighing pleasantly at the same time. His fingers trembled and he kept balling them into fists, still refusing to let his mind wander back to the earlier events of the day. No, he didn’t want to go there, not now.

In truth, he expected that everything that happened would leave him hollow, heartbroken, melancholic but calm, at peace. He was wrong. In fact, he was even more anxious and nervous now than before. Now that his parents were freed and Lucius’ part of the bargain was done, Harry finally and with clarity realized what did it all entail. In just a few days he was going to sell his soul and his body, his magic to one man, the worst kind of a man, a murderer and a criminal. This belated realization almost made him throw up and he coughed heavily, trying to hold back the bile.

“Mr Potter? How are you doing? I saw the light,” Malfoy soundlessly opened the door and stepped into the room, “And thought it would be a good tone to check on you before going to sleep… No, no, keep smoking, please. You are allowed to, after all,” he chuckled and came closer. 

Still coughing, Harry jerked his head awkwardly and reddened in embarrassment. He was caught redhanded. “Mr Malfoy, sir,” he managed to whisper, as he stepped down onto the floor.

Lucius watched him greedily – the pale face, surrounded by the opaque smoke and a halo of the moonlight looked ethereal, angelic. If he were a religious man, he would have fallen on his knees and prayed. But as a rational and a sober man, a warlock, Lucius thought that falling on his knees and blowing Harry would be enough to experience his own kind of catharsis. But it wasn’t the time yet, not now – these waters were to be treaded carefully. 

“So how are you doing, Mr Potter?” he asked again, inspecting the tear stains on the round cheeks and the dark circles under the shining emerald eyes. “I know it is rather pointless to ask this question, when you are obviously doing terribly. But I know for a fact, that talking to somebody, sharing your pain and burden has a healing effect on a soul.” 

“Thank you, sir, for your compassion, I feel unworthy of your constant worrying,” Harry mumbled, lowering his gaze, as the traitorous tears had once again gathered in the corners of his eyes. How was it even possible that he was being constantly touched and moved by Malfoy’s words? Why in the world Malfoy was the only person, who treated him so kindly, humane? 

“I am here for you, Mr Potter,” Lucius smiled and on their own accord his hands reached out to smoothen the night robe over the wizard’s shoulders. He could feel Harry’s warmth through the thin fabric and prayed he would be able to keep himself and his libido under control. “I know you are going through a great turmoil right now, but believe me, everything would be alright in just a few days. Everything you did was right, you made the right choice,” he said seriously, looking the boy in the eyes. “You did everything right.” 

“Thank you, sir,” Harry sighed, relieved. The soft, warm hands on his shoulders, the sweet gentle scent surrounding him and the tender voice resonating in his very heart made him feel alive again. Free. He let out a shuddering breath and let a silly, apologetic smile stretch his lips. “I am so embarrassed for my behavior, please, forgive me, Mr Malfoy.” 

“Stop apologizing, Harry… May I call you Harry in private?” Lucius inquired amusedly, surprised he let it slip his tongue. Harry’s astonished look turned him on and he barely restrained himself from ordering the other to comply. 

“Y-yes, s-sir,” Harry stammered. Even his stupid little name of two simple syllables sounded sexual in Malfoy’s interpretation. The grey eyes lit up and a lecherous, wild smile appeared on the man’s face. 

“Harry,” he repeated with pleasure, “Is much more convenient, don’t you think? Besides, soon we will become comrades, you and I, and you would also be allowed to call me by my given name. You may as well start practicing now, Harry,” Lucius winked at him cunningly and finally let his hands slide down the thin shoulders and away from the desired body of his assistant. 

“Oh, but, sir,” Harry felt confused and couldn’t even contemplate the idea of calling Malfoy… Lucius. 

“Go on, say it, say my name, Harry,” Lucius teased. The cigarette in the boy’s hand had almost burnt out and he gently took it from him and threw into the ashtray. “Lucius. Say it, it is not that hard, believe me.”

“L-lucius,” Harry murmured shyly, looking everywhere but at his boss.

“I can’t hear you, Harry,” the dark wizard bent lower and closer to him, and his sweetened breath brushed against Harry’s cheek. “Say it louder and clearer, you are not a schoolboy anymore, you are a man.” 

“Lucius,” he tried again, harder now. Saying it aloud felt very naughty, as if he broke a rule or committed a crime he knew he would be punished for, but the anticipation of punishment was what excited him. Harry couldn’t believe himself and his own actions, desires. 

“Very good, Harry.” They were so close, and he wanted them to be so much closer. Patience, my friend, patience. “From now on you may address me informally in private, when we are alone. Since our lives are entangled so tightly together, I believe it would be much more comfortable to get rid of these tiring formalities.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry replied dutifully.

“Harry,” Lucius clicked his tongue chidingly and shook his head, laughing at the young wizard.

“Yes… Lucius.” 

When Malfoy laughed, Harry always felt like a little boy – the sound simply made him happy, made him want to share the joy, to laugh as well. Despite being a dark wizard, his boss had a genuinely bright, kind personality and that was why Harry liked him so much. Even too much, he thought. 

“Wonderful. Now, I suggest you drink a sleeping potion and spend as much time in bed tomorrow as you need. There is a lot ahead of you, Harry, you must rest well.” 

“Yes, you are right, sir… Lucius. I will,” Harry offered him a coy smile and rubbed the tears off of his face with his sleeve. Funny how this man always managed to lift his spirits… “Just one more cigarette and I am off to bed.” He put one in between his lips, but froze, when Lucius suddenly took it from him.

“Let me light it up for you, Harry,” Lucius offered, grinning, and put the cigarette into his own mouth instead and lit it wandlessly, puffed a few small clouds of smoke, until the paper and the tobacco set well, and then passed the cigarette back to Harry. 

Even though the process was nothing out of the ordinary, it made Harry horny like nothing else had before. It was so intimate, so… Hot. He couldn’t find another word for it. 

“Th-thanks,” he mouthed, trying to hold the cigarette with his lips, while the only thought that kept spinning in his head was of the fact that this paper had been in Lucius’ lips just now, and he wished to be in this paper’s place. 

“You are welcome, Harry. Good night then,” Lucius purred, staring at the cigarette and the red lips, and that long neck with a pulsing vein on its side, and those eyes, in which a glimpse of desire could be seen if one looked closely. And he did, oh he did look. 

And while Harry lay in his bed and tried to think of Malfoy only, for he found fantasizing about the man helped him forget about all of his troubles for a little while, Lucius lay in his bathtub and masturbated helplessly to the fantasies of finally holding and fucking Harry senseless. Just like the victims of his master’s tortures waited for the final blow to relieve them of pain, he waited for the final pump to help him come, only to begin the process all over again, for it was never enough. 

xxx

“Well, well, Harry, what is it that you are going to gladden me with today?” Were the words that Voldemort greeted the young wizard with, when he opened the door of his study Monday morning and found the infamous gryffindor sitting sedately on the sofa. “You look like you hadn’t slept the night,” he added somewhat spitefully, for pretense’s sake, and cackled at his own immature sense of humour. 

“Good morning, sir. Yes, I didn’t notice the time,” Harry solemnly replied, giving the warlock a small, tired smile. He was exhausted and nervous at the same time for he was absolutely certain that he would fail this test, and he didn’t want to imagine what would be the alternative in that case. 

“Well, then, what is your proposition, how do you think we can find that criminal?” The Dark Lord inquired seriously now, as he sat down at his desk and folded his hands underneath his chin, peering at Harry and wondering absentmindedly if he should make Harry find this man personally and see what happens then. 

“I, well… As I’ve already told you, Mr Riddle, I have no experience in ritualistic magic whatsoever, so all of my calculations are strictly theoretical and cannot be proven unless we perform an experiment… I tried to use it, while being on the grounds of Malfoy manor, but I believe their ancient magic hinders with the process and the results are wrong. Or the calculations are wrong…” Harry trailed off shyly, tugging on his shirt’s collar and fearing to look up at Riddle, who was paging through his report, that consisted of chaotic notes of formulas, drawings and random observations. To say that he failed his task would be an understatement. 

“Your calculations are right,” Voldemort said, not looking at Harry, but inspecting the numbers and runes scribbled on the pages over each other. “Why did you stop working on this rather well thought through combination of spells after your failure with an experiment and turned to a trail search ritual instead?” he asked curiously and finally glanced up at the boy. “You could simply come here and try it on my grounds, that are not protected with any magic that could interfere with yours.” 

“Oh, I didn’t thank of that, sir,” Harry admitted, blushing in embarrassment. “I… I… Well, I thought that if Mr Pettigrew didn’t find this man and there were no sightings of him for two weeks straight, then, perhaps… There is a possibility, that he might be dead,” he murmured barely audibly, but Riddle heard him very well, if his strange, imperceptible gaze was anything to judge by. 

“So, you believe, the ritual wouldn’t find his location, because he might be dead, and you propose to look for his magical trail instead, that would lead us to his, presumably, grave?” At the boy’s hardly visible nod, Voldemort hummed wondrously and tapped on his chin thoughtfully, “Well, theoretically, you are right. But I’ve never heard of such a precedent before – the Resistance never kills their own, even for the sake of their own safety.”

“But, but… What if it was an accident?” Harry offered helplessly. “Accidents happen all the time. And if he was on the run, he could very well fall to his death, while hiding in the mountains.”

“Harry, he is a wizard, not some idiot muggle,” Voldemort snorted and closed the folder with the report, though his fingers remained on its cover, drumming on it from time to time. “Wizards that are capable of blowing up a secured laboratory don’t starve or fall to death, or get lost in the woods, or get eaten by a troll. Someone or something must have helped him to meet his end…” 

“But what are we to do then…?” Harry sincerely wished that he didn’t have to do anything else, didn’t have to look for this man further. However, postponing his marking seemed like a very, very tempting idea. Should he volunteer to prolong the research? 

“I think it is best for you to trace him down and confirm your theory, don’t you agree, Harry?” Voldemort smiled imperceptibly at the boy’s horrified expression and flickered his fingers to call the house-elf. “Fetch us Headmaster Snape,” he ordered impassively, and the creature instantly disappeared.

“H-headmaster Snape?” Harry stood up sharply, astonished.

“Why, yes, of course, who else?” the Dark Lord lifted his shoulders up indifferently. “What is it, Harry? Have you already managed to wrong him somehow?” he chuckled, covering his stinging lips with his fingers, “Although, I have to admit, it is indeed very easy to fall out of his grace. That rotten temper of his!” 

“B-but why headmaster?” Harry practically wailed, unable to control himself any longer, “Hasn’t he got a school to reign over? We would only waste his time…”

“Now, now,” Voldemort raised his hand to interrupt the wizard, “Let me decide whose time to waste and for which purpose. Why are you so uncomfortable about working with Snape, of all people? Hadn’t he written that wonderful reference for you, child?” he tried to sound reprimanding, though inwardly he wondered what was the real cause of Harry’s fear of the potions master. He knew the boy was going to give him this old tale of Snape’s and Potter’s mutual hatred and all that rot, but clearly this wasn’t the real reason. There was something much more serious going on and he couldn’t guess what without legilimency. 

“Headmaster Snape… He is…” Harry wasn’t the person to tell on another, certainly he had never complained before, so why would he now? “A very scary man, sir. I am simply wary of him, and he isn’t very fond of me either, as you must know,” he added bitterly and fell back on the sofa, hunching under the weight of exhaustion that has come over him once again. 

“Nothing new under the sun, Harry,” Voldemort hummed, watching him carefully. He hated guessing, but for now there was no way he could know for sure. Asking Severus to read Harry’s mind would be a disgrace, besides, he wanted to have the wonder boy as an ace up his sleeve, an ace he could use against both his servants and enemies.

“You called for me…” Snape stopped just in time to hold back on the title, when he caught sight of a very pale and very upset Potter. He habitually sneered at the boy and bowed slightly before his master, after he closed the door behind himself. 

“Severus, thank you for coming at such a short notice,” Voldemort mocked him mirthfully, waving his hands dismissively, “No need for ceremonies just now, do sit down, make yourself comfortable.” 

Rolling his eyes at this pathetic game of his lord, Snape lowered himself on the nearest chair, having had pushed the books off of its seat, and stared expectantly at the maimed warlock, pointedly ignoring existence of one green eyed spy. “What is it that you wished to discuss with me?” 

“You remember that man, the one that blew up the docks, what is his name…” Voldemort frowned and peeped inside the file, “Ah, yes, Plummer. Long story short, my dear Severus, everybody failed at finding this Plummer, so I had to trust our future recruit Mr Potter to solve this little problem of ours.” 

“And how come, that Mr Potter had suddenly become an expert in catching outlaws?” the potions master grimaced, as if every letter of the blasted name brought him unbearable suffering. “And what does this… Plummer have to do with me, for this matter?” 

“Well, Harry here believes this man to be dead, since he can’t find him either. So, he purposed to use a trace-searching ritual. We need to confirm that he is indeed dead, and for that matter, you should be the first one there to witness the cause of his death. For, as you very well understand, a wizard couldn’t die hiding in the woods or in the mountains,” Voldemort explained lazily, playing with one of his trinkets.

“Yes, if he is dead,” Snape emphasized the last word and threw Harry a doubtful look, full of contempt and hostility, “Then he was most certainly killed by his own. I will go there immediately, give me the spell, Mr Potter…”

“Ah-ah,” the Dark Lord raised his long index finger, smiling cunningly, “You will accompany Mr Potter there, since it is his task as a future Death Eater. He will do everything personally, you would only witness the corpse and open an investigation, that is, if we would need one.” 

“Mas-… Must you submit me to such a torture?!” The potions master’s indignation was so strong, he had almost forgotten that he was supposed to keep up this stupid charade. 

“What is it with you two? You are worse than cat and dog. Mind you,” Voldemort said lowly, leaning forward in his seat and taking on a very menacing look, which he knew very well always had its effect on others, “None of this rubbish that you call a ‘mutual hatred’ would interfere with the task, investigation, upcoming marking and your future shared work. You’ve survived each other perfectly well for seven years at Hogwarts, you would do well to repeat that wonderful experience in the Dark Lord’s servitude. Is that understood?” 

For a moment there, Harry could have sworn, it seemed like the Dark Lord himself was speaking to them – this cold, cold merciless gaze of blood red eyes and the low, freezing voice, that crawls up one’s throat and chokes one to death, like a dark mist… But the vision had disappeared as soon as Riddle lay back in his armchair again and, having had folded his hands over his stomach, coughed out his usual raspy laughter. His transition was so quick and so magical, that Harry strongly convinced himself, that he was simply tired and hadn’t had enough sleep.

“Now, it is time for an adventure, don’t you think, boys?” 

“Boys…” Snape rolled his eyes in exasperation and stood up dramatically, showing just how much effort he had to put into this partnership for it to work, and stared at Potter expectantly.

“Let us walk down and onto the lawn and try this ritual out?” Voldemort offered in a commanding tone and also stood up and glided past both wizards, not waiting for them to follow – they, of course, did.

Harry curiously gazed at the old mansion, that looked like an illustration to one of Dickens’s novels, only it was old and damaged. What surprised him the most, though, was the garden, that surrounded the wing, in which Riddle lived and worked. It wasn’t very big, certainly much smaller than Malfoy’s, but even cozier because of that. Trees grew wildly, entangled together, and created series of dark, cool tunnels, that casted deep black shadows onto mowed but still rather long grass. And the flowers… Harry had never seen so many different flowers at one place, not even in professor Sprout’s greenhouse had he found such a rich variety of most exquisite plants. It was obvious that the owner of this garden loved it and put a lot of work and thought into it. One more strange mystery added up to Riddle’s already odd personality.

They followed the tall black shadow of a warlock deep into the green and soon arrived at a small clearing. Riddle walked up to a rose bush and gently took one of the buds into his hand, that looked deadly pale against the blooming red of the petals.

“You two begin, and I will watch the show,” Voldemort ordered, not looking at the wizards, but smelling the flower and sighing with great content. He rarely allowed himself walking outside, for it took a lot of strain and energy, but he couldn’t stay away from his flowers for very long. 

“Fine,” Snape bit out and turned to give Harry that famous look of his. 

Harry could almost here him growl: ‘Well, where can we find Bezoar, Mr Potter?’ 

“Why do you stand like a statue, perform the bloody ritual!” 

That made Harry move. He hurriedly knelt and burned a pentagram on the ground and turned a few leaves into candles, hurriedly drawing runes…

“I see you are very familiar with dark magic, Mr Potter, drawing pentagrams without any hesitation…” Snape drawled, watching the wizard carefully, though it was hard to hide his fascination with how indeed easily Potter prepared for a ritual, which not even all of the Inner Circle members could pull off. The boy, just as he had once predicted at Hogwarts, was going to become a great wizard very soon. Or a warlock, if Voldemort’s satisfied expression was anything to judge by. It was obvious, that the Dark Lord was grooming Potter for something more, than just spying, and he, of course, wasn’t going to share his plans with anybody, let alone Snape.  
Harry quickly collected and installed everything, that was necessary for the ritual to work, placed Plummer’s hairbrush into the center and, having had rolled up his sleeves, began chanting long incantation of his own creation, waving his arms in a specific pattern.

“What a prodigy, eh, Severus?” The potions master heard a quiet whisper right above his ear, although the Dark Lord stood in a distance. “Look how much in common you two have, and you still refuse to like little Harry. I suggest you reconsider your views in the future.” 

This was a threat veiled as an order. That much was obvious for Snape, who got the massage his master sent him: to not touch Potter under any circumstances. 

Harry rolled out a map of England and threw what looked like a small piece of burning coal onto it and froze, watching, waiting. Both Snape and Voldemort also stared at the black rock that suddenly began spinning and dragging itself across the map, leaving a dirty smudgy trace behind. It looked like a route, from London all the way up to Manchester, however, the coal stopped abruptly and turned sharply to the right. It finally came to a halt at the moors. By that time Harry was sweating like mad and breathing like a racing horse – the stone took its power straight from the caster of the spell.

“Moors. Wonderful,” Snape concluded gravely. “If he is dead, then there is nothing left of him there.” 

“You can’t know for sure, Severus, unless you check it out,” Voldemort replied nonchalantly and came closer, to inspect the map. “Or are you going all Lucius on me? You can’t go to the country in these shoes, you need to change them for something a little less fancier?” He smiled when he heard Harry snort quietly at his joke and grinned evilly, when Snape huffed indignantly and turned to look in the opposite direction. 

“It would be hard to apparate there for both of you, so make a portkey,” the Dark Lord continued and gave the dark wizard the very rose he had been admiring all this time. “I would like to receive my flower back, when you are done.” 

“Of course,” Snape bowed his head a little bit. 

Few people knew how much Voldemort loved his flowers. The potions master liked to imagine the Dark Lord as a Beast Prince from an old fairy tale, who is simply waiting for the day when a person capable of loving him would come. Unfortunately for Voldemort he was a real monster and a bastard most of the time, so Snape was positively certain, that the Beast was to die alone, in the company of his roses. Lucius loved his master, of course, but it was sort of a snake bite poisoning – once the venom got into the system, it could never be washed out of it completely, and the body is forced to create an immunity against it. Lucius’ love wasn’t pure, wasn’t magical, it was based on lust and fear of loneliness – feelings both he and the Dark Lord shared, but that was pretty much all they had in common. 

“I will be waiting in my study for your return and for the news,” Voldemort gave them both a meaningful look and slowly walked away into the green of the bushes.  
“Hold the rose, Mr Potter,” Snape gritted through his teeth. Harry hurriedly grabbed on the thorny stem, and the potions master sighed, “Plummer.” And the portkey whisked them away into the unknown.

Eerie light of the sun hidden behind the fog created a particularly melancholic, unhealthy atmosphere at the moors, and the loud sounds of mud squelching underneath their feet made Harry feel very unwell, sick. The place retched of death and filth, something slimy, inhuman… A cemetery for lost souls. In all honesty Harry would have preferred to meet the infamous Hound of Baskervilles, rather than search for a rotting corpse amidst these swamps. Professor and he walked in silence, following the defined route on the map – they had to portkey themselves to the nearest muggle road, to not get lost, and it was quite a distance that they had to cover.

“Do you know how had we found out that the last of Lucius’ assistants was a fraud, a spy sent in by the Resistance?” Snape asked all of a sudden, smiling wryly to himself. He couldn’t, of course, tell Potter that he knew his dirty little secret – that was his master’s order to keep it a secret for the time being. But nobody told him he couldn’t torture this rotten gryffindor and grate on his nerves. 

“How?” Harry thought his own voice to be an echo – so loud and so quiet it sounded at the same time. He shivered, distressed and outright scared. Why would this obnoxious bat start that particular conversation here, of all places? Least of all he wanted to know the truth now, when he was looking for another dead spy of the Resistance.

“Lucius fucked him almost every night, and it so happened, that one fateful evening the idiot forgot to take his Polyjuice Potion – he simply ran out of it. And just as your boss began undressing his favourite prostitute… Voila,” Snape smacked his lips, terribly satisfied with the effect his story had on Potter, who seemed to be ready to faint every second now. “The potion’s powers had ceased to be and Lucius found an ugly, unshaved man in his embrace. Imagine his disgust and wrath at that moment, and his embarrassment.” 

“Merlin…” Was all that Harry could force out of his mouth. 

The situation seemed absolutely surreal, insane, he couldn’t help but pity poor Malfoy. However, the most unpleasant idea to him wasn’t the one that he could also be discovered, but that there had been somebody before him, that he was going to, eventually, also become a prostitute… Harry shook his head, pulling himself together. No, he is not like that, he doesn’t need to sleep with Lucius to get information out of him. Most importantly this doesn’t concern him, he is not going to be taken to bed… Or is he? Harry had to helplessly admit it to himself, that he didn’t know if he wanted to become yet another lover of Lord Malfoy or not.

“It would be better for you to be more careful, Mr Potter,” Snape added venomously, “Who knows what secrets are hidden in your closet…”

“There!” Harry cried, interrupting the dark wizard and thanking the odds for an opportunity to worm his way out of this discussion. “I see a body!” 

They both mended their pace and soon reached what seemed to be indeed a grave. A man lay on his stomach in a hole in a bog, slowly drowning deeper and deeper into it. It looked like he had become a breakfast to the few predators that lived around here – he was missing a leg and a half of his face. Harry turned away, trying to pull himself together, squeezing his eyes tightly shut and gulping down the bile. Well, at least Plummer wasn’t going to talk, and James and Sirius and the others were safe for the time being… Great relief washed over Harry and helped him hold back on throwing up.

“You have a very soft stomach for somebody who wields dark magic so easily, Mr Potter,” the potions master informed him in a bored tone, as he crouched next to the body and, having had put one of his leather gloves on, carefully pulled Plummer’s head up to inspect what was left of him. “Not much,” he concluded with a tired sigh and let the head fall back into the mud with a loud squash. He then produced his magic wand and performed a complete check up.

“Was he poisoned?” Harry whispered, when he turned back, having had gathered all of his strength, and glanced at the corpse. 

“Doesn’t look like it. We will have to open an investigation to find out the real cause of death,” Snape replied, stood up and rolled his sleeve up to send a message. “What?” he noticed that Potter stared at the Dark Mark in terror, “You will get this one too, be patient,” he sneered and tapped his wand against the tattoo. 

Ten minutes later they were surrounded by several Death Eaters and other dark wizards, who instantly made the report, collected the evidence, and finally took the body away. 

“You may have it,” Voldemort told Harry, when they met some time later in his study, “I have plenty of these in my garden. And since you were right in all of your calculations and your theory, and since you have found Plummer after all, let this rose be your reward,” he smiled slightly and passed the flower back.

“Thank you, sir, you really shouldn’t have…” Harry mumbled modestly, taking the rose into his both hands. It was indeed beautiful, even though its thorns were very sharp, and the inside of his palms was already bloodied and stung unbearably hard. 

“This sort blooms longer when you give it blood,” Voldemort told him humourously, when he saw the scars on the young wizard’s hands. “But don’t overdo it, Harry, no need to sacrifice so much for one little rose.”

“Yes, sir,” he smiled nervously back, once again overwhelmed by everything that had happened in the course of past few days and several hours.

“Harry,” the Dark Lord said quietly, waiting for the green eyes to meet his, “You will be marked on Wednesday. I will notify Lucius and he will help you prepare. I am looking forward to our meeting.” 

“I… Me too,” Harry blurted out, staring at the maimed warlock in horror. So soon, it will happen so very soon… He wasn’t ready! He will never be ready! 

“See you the day after tomorrow, child,” Voldemort grinned and raised his hand up to once again caress the boy’s soft, reddened cheek and enjoy his warmth. “I am very glad that you are becoming one of… Us ,” he finished, cackling. He almost said ‘mine’. 

xxx

“Come with me,” somebody barked over Harry’s ear and forced him into a side by side apparition. 

Malfoy offered Harry to take a day off and go to his parents’ house in Godric’s Hollow to collect all of the belongings he wished to have with him at the manor, to properly say his goodbyes to his past life. And in the evening his boss was going to tell him everything he was supposed to know before the marking ritual. Harry accepted his offer without any hesitation – he needed a break and he most certainly missed his home and his parents…

He stood in the living room, staring at the old TV set and crying silently, brushing the tears off of his cheeks from time to time. How hard it turned out to be, he never thought a heart could ache so much. 

“I’m so sorry,” Harry murmured, sniffing, and pressed his palms against his face, “I miss you so much.” 

At that very moment he felt somebody appear by his side, grab him painfully on the arm and apparate away, it all happened in a second and he had no time to react properly. When he took his wand out and pointed it in the direction of his supposed abductor, Harry realized that he was once again underground, in one of the ‘lairs’ of the Resistance.

“What the fuck happened?!” Sirius shouted, taking a step away from him and coming into the light. “Where are James and Lily? What have you done, Harry?!” 

“I… I…”

“They were sent out of the country,” Moody helpfully growled from his corner, where only a smoke from a pipe could be seen. 

“But why?!” Sirius cried, waving his hands, “I was only gone for ten days, why the fuck hasn’t anybody told me? Why didn’t James write to me?” 

“He couldn’t. They arrested all of his correspondence,” Harry explained quietly, not raising his eyes. He didn’t need that look from Ron, from Angelina, from twins, from everybody else. He secretly hoped, that, perhaps, Neville wouldn’t judge him, but he was too much of a coward to get his proof of that theory. 

“Oh, and you knew about that and you didn’t deem it necessary to write to me?” His godfather sounded livid and Harry couldn’t blame him.

“My correspondence is also being checked, you know that very well,” he tried to justify himself. 

“And?” Sirius stared at him angrily. Harry couldn’t help but feel like a five year old, who is being scolded for breaking an old granfather’s clock. “Don’t you have legs, hands, tongue? Couldn’t you find somebody from our group and pass a message?” 

“No, I couldn’t!” Harry retorted defiantly, having had finally lost his patience. “I didn’t want you or anyone of you to meddle with this! You wanted me to become a Death Eater? I did it! I will be marked tomorrow!”

“What? What?! How?” Everybody began whispering feverishly between each other.

“And you weren’t going to tell us either?” Moody drawled sarcastically. 

“Wait, I don’t understand, how is this connected?” Sirius looked between his godson and others, who were all too excited to be of any use now. “How did you get to become a Death Eater so easily?”

“Malfoy…” Harry sighed, knowing very well that telling the whole truth was counterproductive. “I told Malfoy that my mother is very unhappy, being a branded muggleborn, I asked him if there was a way I could help her out.” He hated lying, he despised lying, but there was no other option. Besides, this was a half-truth after all. “Malfoy offered me a deal: my freedom in exchange for hers, and dad’s. I agreed.” 

“But you didn’t want to become a Death Eater,” Ron noted snidely.

“Yes, I still don’t, but how could I refuse to accept his one-time offer? They are safe now, they are free from the Dark Lord, they can live abroad and do magic and whatever they want and nobody would punish them for being them!” Was it really that hard to understand? That he did it for his parents’ sakes?

“So you’ve… You’ve exchanged their freedom for your servitude to the Dark…” Sirius confirmed once again, blinking often. He found it hard to wrap his mind around the fact, that a boy, be he in Malfoy’s good grace, received an offer almost immediately, while adult dark wizards waited for years to at least become a part of the Dark service, let alone obtain a Dark Mark… He himself could never become a Death Eater, even though he was a dark wizard and a pureblood – his connection to the past war and to Dumbledore left him bereft of any chances of getting inside the Dark Lord’s circles.

“You’ve met the Dark Lord then?” Neville’s unexpected question made everybody shut up abruptly. “What is he like?”

“I haven’t…” Harry mumbled, confused. Why would he meet the Dark Lord before becoming a Death Eater? As if the leader of their community had the time for such nonsense… 

“But nobody can get a Mark without being approved by the Dark Lord himself!” somebody said.

“I would have known if I met him, now, wouldn’t I?” Harry laughed nervously, hastily trying to remembe everybody he had met during his work for Malfoy’s office… None of these people could be the great warlock. The only person who seemed close enough was Riddle, but he had told Harry, that he wasn’t one of the Death Eaters… Could he be…? No, no, impossible, Voldemort doesn’t have time to have chit-chats with Hogwarts’ graduates, to torture Pettigrews and to smell flowers in the garden. “He has a special officer for that, who chooses the candidates for the marking,” he added confidently. Though in his heart he knew that something must have been wrong, that something just wasn’t adding up…

“Oh,” Sirius, who had lost all of his anger by now, looked genuinely surprised by this information, as did everybody else. “We didn’t know that… Then, if this person is not the Dark Lord himself, then we might even have a possibility of swaying him to our side or switching him with one of our own…”

“I don’t think so. He is a very special wizard, and I doubt you would be able to get so close to him,” Harry said, shaking his head. Whatever has gotten into him to protect Riddle like that? To boast about him? Has he gone stark mad? Harry inwardly whined and slapped himself on the face… What an idiot. 

“Are your parents really going to be alright out there?” Arthur Weasley, whom Harry hadn’t seen at the meetings before, came closer and rested his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “How can you know for sure that they didn’t trick you?”

Well, that was the point – Harry didn’t know. He simply trusted Malfoy and Riddle… And now, at that very moment, he felt the ground disappear from underneath him. The realization hit him harder than a rock. Suddenly his heart stopped beating and fell down into his gut. 

“They will be fine,” Harry answered in a hollow voice, “I sent a message to Hermione, she is in America now, asked her to contact them and to take them in, to help them settle somewhere…” Seeing how worried both Arthur and Sirius looked he added uncertainly, “I saw them off, I saw the ritual, they did everything right…”

“I must send a message to Dumbledore straight away!” his godfather darted towards the exit, but was intercepted by Kingsley Shacklebot, who in turn, had just barged in.

“I have just received a message from Dumbledore!” he announced, holding Sirius by the arm.

Everybody leaned closer, whispering excitedly, and Harry, left for good and forgotten, finally allowed himself to slide down the wall, he had been pressed against, and sit on one of the barrels and breathe. Breathe. He had already imagined the news, that were encrypted in the letter… He couldn’t start crying, he was silently burying his parents, but he couldn’t squeeze a single tear out of himself…

“James and Lily are safe and sound here, with me. I am very surprised to see them both, even more surprised to hear what Harry had done to make this happen. Send him my regards and a warning: it isn’t over. A. D.”

“Oh, Merlin,” Sirius fell on the nearest chair, coughing and laughing at the same time, while his comrades cheered the news and patted him on the shoulders, as if he had been the hero of the hour.

Finally the tears burst out and Harry hid his face in his hands, to not let everybody see what a horrible deed had he done. He had been dancing on the very edge all this time, having had sent his parents into the unknown, having had changed their fates so carelessly, not even knowing for sure if they will survive in the process… He simply wanted to show them that he loved them and that he was capable of doing something significant and useful, so much, that he almost killed them… It was the moment when Harry realized, that Riddle had been calling him a child all this time, and it wasn’t a whim or a teasing… Riddle was right, as always. He was calling him by what he actually was. A child, a stupid, selfish child… 

“Now, now, Harry,” Arthur took him by the shoulders again, “Everything is fine, you did well… What a burden for such a young man to bear…” 

His hands were almost as soft and as warm as Lucius’, and his voice was just as kind, but Harry couldn’t see the gingerhead Weasley – all he saw was his fair haired employee. He dearly wished to go back to the manor and to talk to him, to tell him all of his worries, all of his troubles, to touch him and to let the man smoothen his robes or lit his cigarette… Harry missed Lucius? There had been just too many shocking realizations today, he thought sarcastically. 

“So you will be marked tomorrow?” Sirius asked him some time later, when everybody calmed down and settled around the cellar to listen. “Do you know what will happen then?”

“No,” Harry shook his head, shyly looking down at the floor. He felt embarrassed and tired of all these perturbations, he wanted to go home… “Malfoy will prepare me tonight, he will tell me what I will have to go through and what would follow.”

“Do you know if you will keep your position, or will get a different one?”

“I will stay where I am now, an assistant, but I will be serving the Dark Lord personally, as far as I understand. Though how this will work – I have no idea.”

In fact, Lucius told him, that Riddle was very pleased with his work and the way he handled the test, and was going to use him as his personal assistant as well, which, how Malfoy explained it, meant that Harry was going to execute the Dark Lord’s personal orders… Harry figured that Riddle was closer to Voldemort than anybody else and, therefore, could put him in such a position… In all honesty he still didn’t know how the Inner and Outer Circles worked and what was the principle of each group… He was going to learn very soon and didn’t wish to deal with it earlier than necessary. 

“Whoa…” Ron stared at him weirdly, “What exactly have you done to earn such a promotion? I mean… You must have pleased Malfoy ve-e-ry well…”

“Ronald!” Arthur smacked him on the back of his head, “Mind your dirty tongue!” 

“I haven’t done anything, if you must know,” Harry replied coldly, insulted by such atrocious behavior of his once best friend. “I have passed a test and that is why I am getting this position.”

“What test?” Moody barked.

“I found Plummer for them.” They all froze, as if caught redhanded. “I found him dead, don’t worry.”

“Merlin, he died?” Neville’s voice rang loudly over everybody else’s. “But what happened?”

“I don’t know yet, it looks like he was killed and then eaten by wild animals… At least this was what I found,” Harry said lightly, watching them carefully. Yes, it was obvious, that Sirius, Ron, Arthur… They all knew. One of them had probably killed Plummer. Damned Riddle was right once again. “Anyway, he won’t tell anybody a thing and I never knew him either, so…”

“What about your occlumency progress?” Sirius came up to him and hugged him slightly by the shoulders. “You know that starting tomorrow you will be in a constant danger, right?” 

“Yes, I know. I will manage, I think,” Harry sighed. He didn’t think so. He was frightened to death, he didn’t want tomorrow to come, he was preparing to die tomorrow… He was becoming much better at occluding his mind, true – Riddle’s journal guided him all through the way – but he still felt horrified by the prospect of meeting the Dark Lord, who was a master of legilimency…

“Wonderful, simply wonderful… Harry, I,” his godfather stopped and turned to Harry to look him in the eyes, “I am sorry I was angry before. I just didn’t expect… You must understand…”

“I do. It is I who must apologize, Sirius. I shouldn’t have done that behind your back,” Harry smiled at him nervously.

“You did very well, Harry, I am sure your mom and dad are very grateful now, when they are with Dumbledore and all of our friends there,” Sirius assured him, trying not to show how very disappointed he was that Harry had in fact gone behind his back. It was all good and well that Lily was freed of course, but they needed James here – he was absolutely useless within the boarders. Harry’s mistake costed them very dearly. “Do call me after you are marked, alright? We must celebrate, after all, not every day a Potter gets his Dark Mark, eh?” 

Harry didn’t know what made him do it, but he unconsciously brushed on the surface of Sirius mind, while they held their eye contact, and he found that he had been lied to. 

“I should be going back, I have to return to the Manor by four o’clock, and I still have a lot of things to do around the house…” he awkwardly excused himself, feeling very, very uncomfortable and wronged somehow. How could it be, that whatever he did, was a mistake? How was it possible that all of his good intentions turned out to be bad? Why was he such a disappointment and a burden? “No, no, don’t apparate me back, I can get there myself just fine,” he smiled as much as he could and quickly vanished out of his godfather’s grasp. 

“Why do I have a feeling that this Potter was born defected? It looks like he is going to become our downfall,” Moody drawled, when the meeting came to an end, and there were only a few of them left in the cellar.

“He is still a child, Alastor,” Shacklebot replied, “He did what he thought was right, he tried to help his family. I think we all can relate to that. Besides, he managed to do what nobody could before: he is actually getting a Mark.” 

“Yeah, well, let’s see how will this one turn out,” the old auror snorted and spat tabacco on the floor. “I bet fifty galleons he will turn to the dark side as soon as Voldemort gets his greasy hands on him. Don’t you know how easily that bastard brainwashes people? He will make Potter believe whatever shit he wants and will make him eat shit from his hand and ask for more, ha!”

“You overestimate this boy,” Arthur reprimanded him, shaking his head chidingly. “I am certain that Harry is much stronger and smarter than that.”

“I hope you are right,” Sirius finally spoke in a grave voice, “I hope very much.” 

xxx

Lucius told him to not be afraid, but Harry, for the life of him, couldn’t follow that advice. He shook like a leaf in the wind, standing in front of the tall carved doors, that led into the meeting hall. There were two more wizards before him and one more behind him. They stood alone in the corridor in complete silence and waited to be called inside. If Harry wasn’t so nervous he would have certainly noticed, that they were in Riddle’s house, since he had already had his taste of the warlock’s magic before. But he wasn’t able to think of that just now. This odd notion was registered somewhere in the back of his mind, but he didn’t pay it any heed. All he could think of was the hammer, that was going to fall in one, two, three…

One of the doors creaked and a masked Death Eater of a higher rank appeared in front of them. “You three, come with me. No, Potter, not you, you wait here to be called in the end,” the man told them quickly and led the three wizards inside.

Harry’s heart once again fell down into his gut. He knew. The Dark Lord knew. And he was going to make a show of punishing a spy in front of everybody present, and the newly marked servants as well. He will teach them all a lesson by killing Harry Potter on the spot. 

“Fuck,” he let out a shaky breath, rubbing the beads of cold sweat off of his brow. His knees were shaking like mad and he had to grab on the edge of the nearest flower table to not fall down to the floor.

Harry looked around, clutching on his own chest in horror - he will die either of Cruciatus or of a heart attack. No, he couldn’t run, he had nowhere to hide! What, he would apparate back to the manor and lock himself up in his bedroom and throw a tantrum, like Draco would have done? But he was in no position to do that, he was a bloody spy and his cover had been blown! Was it possible to get away with this? He hysterically pondered over an idea of asking the Dark Lord for forgiveness and promising him, that he would never do it again. His own idiocy made him cackle madly and he pressed his palm against his mouth to muffle down the sounds he was producing. It wouldn’t do to die with a Bellatrix Lestrange condition, now, would it? Oh, no, she would certainly torture him! Harry saw black, but didn’t faint. His head simply spun and he suddenly fell down on his arse.

“Potter…?” The masked man turned his head to the left and to the right, before he realized he should be looking down. Harry decided to stay on the floor. “I see you are having a good time. It’s your turn, follow me.” 

It was very hard to stand up, but Harry did. He dutifully stepped inside and bowed his head as low as he could – just like Malfoy taught him the previous evening. At least he knew how to be polite and respectful… What a great achievement, Harry thought bitterly.

He walked into the center of the hall, feeling rather than seeing how many people were present, and all of them were Death Eaters. He was surrounded and there was no escape now. He should have run to the manor… Harry let out a shaky breath and knelt, like he was instructed, having had placed his palms and forehead onto the cool tiles of a stone floor. 

Malfoy stepped forward to announce him. “Harold James Potter, the last heir to the Potter family, is making his plea tonight, to join the Death Eaters. Who will intercede for him?” As his boss explained, there must always be a Death Eater who can speak up for the recruit and prove that he is worthy of being marked. This time Lucius was supposed to take this role, however, he was interrupted.

“No need, Lucius, I can perfectly well vouch for him myself,” a cold, raspy, painfully familiar voice reached Harry’s ears from the side of the throne, where the Dark Lord sat. 

How was it possible that he knew Voldemort’s voice? How could Voldemort vouch for him? Harry stopped breathing altogether. He was very close to be hit with another realization, so very close… 

“Come closer, Harry.” 

Harry instantly complied. He stood up and quickly reached the steps of the throne, and fell back on his knees, just like Lucius taught him to. He couldn’t raise his head even if he wanted to – he already knew whom he would see there, hidden in the shadow of the hood…

“M-my l-lord,” he stammered inaudibly, for he couldn’t speak, his throat was constricted with terror and animalistic fear. He had been played this whole time, he had been so cruelly tricked…

“Today I will mark not just a wizard, but a Potter, a child of Light, who came to us, because he is smarter than his predecessors. Well, perhaps, not much smarter yet,” Voldemort barked out a laugh, that was supported by all of his servants, “But he is certainly going to become a great wizard and I am pleased to announce, that he will become one in our care. In my care,” he purred and bent down to take Harry’s face into his cold hand.

Harry was forced to look up and his eyes met the familiar warm blood red eyes of the man, who wrote the blasted journal, who branded his mother, who killed so many innocent people, who usurped his country and taught him occlumency, gave him hope and showed him that he is worth much more than he used to think. He was looking into his almost friend’s eyes and refused to believe that Riddle was in fact Voldemort, and vice versa. 

“Harry, child, what would be your vow to me, as your master?” Voldemort smiled at the astonished boy and caressed his cheeks with an outmost gentleness. Harry was a rare flower that was going to take a very special place in his garden. 

“I… I pledge my life, my soul and my… m-magic to the Dark Lord Voldemort,” Harry whispered weakly, staring into the red eyes unwaveringly. For some reason his fear of death subsided all on its own, as if he found reassurance in the warlock’s gaze, as if he saw a promise there, that he won’t be harmed. But how could he? Did they know he was a spy or not? Harry felt so confused.

“So mote it be,” he smirked and reached out for the boy’s left arm, pulled up his sleeve and covered the skin with his palm, marveling how hot Harry felt to the touch, now that he was so scared and agitated. “Tonight, Harry, your life is changed forever. Morsmordre!” 

Harry grimaced and bit into his lower lip, to not cry in pain. It hurt and burned like hell, as if somebody poured acid onto his skin and set it on fire. Why did it hurt so much? Lucius said it wasn’t painful… Tears and sweat floated down his face, as the venom entered his body and quickly reached his heart. What was this magic, why wasn’t he warned beforehand that he would be poisoned… Riddle kept holding him tightly in his grasp, or was it Voldemort now? Harry hazily wondered what was he to call him, while his body thrashed in fever.

“This is a perfect example of how the Light fights the Dark,” Voldemort announced excitedly, explaining the cause of such a reaction to the spectators. “And how the Dark always wins,” he added with pleasure, when Harry jerked for the last time and fell to his feet, completely exhausted. He then took the boy’s wet, sweaty face into his both hands and told him, almost lovingly, “You are now mine, Harry Potter, don’t forget that. And let the darkness reign in your heart and your soul, for it had been in your magic for so long, it is very hungry to get the best of you.” And with these words he pulled Harry up and kissed him on the forehead – to everybody’s great surprise, for their lord never touched anybody before - taking his time and share of warmth and pleasant scent. Yes, Lucius fell for a very tempting little warlock…

When Harry gained his consciousness and finally managed to sit up, he found that there was nobody left in the hall, except for him, Voldemort, Lucius and Snape. All the Death Eaters were gone, and the lights were dimmed… He looked around, perplexed, then glanced at the Dark Lord, who was still sitting in his throne, and shivered, hurriedly looking away. Riddle… All this time… How could it be?

“Now, now, Harry, we all have our secrets and games, don’t give me that pout – you know better than anybody else what it is like to pretend to be somebody else,” Voldemort drawled lazily, stealing cunning glances at Lucius. 

“Whatever do you mean by that, my lord?” Lucius raised his eyebrows inquiringly. He and Snape had their masks off, and Harry didn’t get the chance to put his on – Lucius held it in his hands. 

“I think Harry should tell you, I wouldn’t want to intrude on something so intimate, now, would I?” the Dark Lord raised his hands in a mockingly placating gesture and grinned at Harry, who, he just knew, was wishing him a most painful death. 

“Tell me what exactly, Mr Potter?” Lucius inquired indifferently. 

“That I am a spy sent in by the Resistance,” Harry blurted out as fast as he could, not looking at his boss. Him of all people he never wanted to hurt or disappoint, and now he did both. And it was obvious that Voldemort knew. Why else would he put him the last in the queue to be marked, why would his mark burn so terribly? It all was a part of his punishment, and how it would end he, honestly, didn’t want to know.

“And you’ve known about it right from the start, haven’t you, master?” Lucius sighed, looking at the overly satisfied Voldemort wearily. 

“Yes, I did. Severus too. We didn’t want to spoil your surprise, though,” the Dark Lord cackled.

“I see. Well, once again, I’ve made a fool of myself,” he murmured and stared down at the masks in his hands. He wasn’t even angry with Harry – it wasn’t the boy’s fault that he yet again made the very same mistake. He was old and wise enough to not put his blame on others. It was a good thing he found out now - it was a mercy from his Lord, not a cruel joke.

“I am very sorry, Mr Malfoy, sir,” Harry whispered, feeling traitorous tears coming out when he least needed them. “I never intended to… I never wanted to hurt or betray you. I agreed because I wanted to help my mother. I never thought I would find a friend in you and now it is twice as painful for me to tell you the truth… I am very, very sorry.” 

A warm hand cupped his cheek and Harry raised his head sharply up, to meet the kind gaze of pale grey eyes. Lucius crouched next to him and caressed him as if nothing has happened.

“You know, Mr Potter, I tend to be a blind idiot when it comes to people, whom I genuinely like. But I also learn from my mistakes, sometimes, not all the time, I admit that. But I always listen to my friends’ advices. If you really had been a spy, if you really had betrayed me – I wouldn’t have made you a Death Eater. I spied on you as well, and you never once passed on anything remotely important. I know you are a very good person, and a very young and an innocent man, who despises hurting others for profit or pleasure. So I’m not angry with you. I am, of course, hurt, but not as much as some might have anticipated,” he said and threw Voldemort a pointed look. He then looked back at Harry and smiled at him warmly, “The fact that our lord accepted you despite you being a spy means much more to me, than anything else. Because it means that you are not guilty of any crime against our cause or me, apart from lying. And I will hold you on that one – you will owe me, Harry, that is all…” 

“Mr Malfoy, sir,” Harry couldn’t find the words to tell him how sorry and embarrassed he felt and how grateful he was to be forgiven. “I… Thank you,” he breathed out and grabbed on the wizard’s hand and pressed it against his lips, kissing it and covering it in his tears.

“Oh, Salazar, spare me…” Snape muttered and turned away from the atrocious display. “Do I really have to stay and watch this?” 

“After they are finished with their sloppy endearments, we have a serious matter to discuss, so do stick around, Severus,” Voldemort smirked at him, while watching the two wizards in front of him with an unexpected jealousy. 

Harry’s gratefulness was so strong, so sincere, he almost glowed with it, and Lucius wasn’t hiding that he basked in it, as if in the rays of summer sun. The Dark Lord wanted it too, wanted badly, but his position didn’t allow him to be sentimental. He simply couldn’t have Harry and his kindness and affection, because he was a lord and a leader of the Dark. Sometimes fate played very unfair tricks on him.

“Do you mind?” he finally barked, and Lucius instantly tore his hands away from Harry, stood up and helped the other stand by his side, still holding him by the robes. “Now, where were we. Yes, Harry is a spy. But he hasn’t done anything criminal against us yet, so I‘ve decided to make him a spy in reverse,” Voldemort elaborated.

“You, you want me to spy on the Resistance, sir? Lord… My lord,” Harry hastily added, having had forgotten that it wasn’t Riddle anymore, but his master. Though he hasn’t realized it fully yet, for now it was only a word in his mind. 

“Yes,” the Dark Lord smiled, “I want you to give them the information I deem suitable, and I want you to look for other spies of theirs in out midst. There must be plenty, for they’ve been doing it for quite some time now. Trying to get closer to me through my servants, like Lucius, for example. It is our luck, that they chose you of all people.”

“But h-how can I…” 

“Ah-ah, Harry, there is no more buts, hows and noes,” Voldemort cut him off coldly. “I freed your parents, I let you live and I made you my own personal servant – don’t you think that you owe me some obedience and loyalty? I am not threatening you, I am simply motivating you to do the right thing. The last time I motivated you, we both reaped wonderful fruits, wouldn’t you agree? You are a smart boy, innocent and naive, yes, but smart and you would think twice whom it is better to betray: me or them.” 

“I understand… My lord,” Harry mumbled, swallowing harshly. Here he was, Riddle-Voldemort, in all of his might, the real Dark Lord, of whom he heard so many horrible tales. Here he was telling Harry, that his and his parents’ lives now depended solely on his wishes. Should Harry disappoint or betray him – he would meet an end he doesn’t want to even imagine… 

“Now, let’s discuss our first step…” 

It was only then, that Harry finally and fully realized what deep shit has he actually gotten himself into.


	7. Under the weather

_“No matter how fast the light travels it always finds that the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it.” © Terry Pratchett_

 

“Stay, Harry,” Voldemort ordered, after their discussion was over and both Malfoy and Snape bowed and bid their goodbyes. “Go, go, Lucius, Harry is a big boy, he will manage to get home by midnight.”

“As you wish, my lord,” Lucius complied, though he kept looking said boy over with worry, clearly written all over his pale face.

Whatever the Dark Lord did with the mark – it wasn’t right, nobody had ever reacted to it in such a fashion before… Of course, Harry had indeed deserved to be punished for his lies and deceit, but not so cruelly. Lucius sighed wearily, as he went out of the meeting hall, placing his perfumed handkerchief against his sweated brow. What an emotional day it has been… To think that he had once again fallen for a spy… Oh, but he couldn’t hold a grudge against Harry, he simply couldn’t.

“Don’t tell me you are going to wait for him,” Snape drawled in his usual, haughty and snide manner, when he also left the hall and closed the door behind them.

“I’ll send his elf to see him to the manor. You saw what master has done to him, he must be very sick now,” Lucius replied, not looking at his friend, still lost in his musings.

“And here I thought I would see your fury, see you torture him to death for his betrayal… Why do I still hold a candle for you?” The potions master lifted his shoulders up irritably and brushed past the wizard. He then vanished out of sight.

“Oh, you wouldn’t understand, dear Severus. You wouldn’t.”

And Harry froze in the center of the hall, alarmed, and stared at the base of the throne, too frightened to look at the Dark Lord. He felt like a mouse, caught in a trap, being teased by the cat, that will sooner or later eat it for sure. And he felt ill and weak, worse with every second, his vision was somewhat blurry now, and his arms and legs trembled evenly.

“You may sit down on the floor, if you feel like it,” Voldemort offered lightly, watching the boy, with a small smile playing on his cracked lips. He was aware that he had fallen very low by teasing a poor young wizard so childishly, but he was so terribly bored and Harry just happened to be such an entertaining company.

“Thank you, sir… My lord. I can stand on my feet,” Harry murmured, wishing he could lie down, he really needed to lie down. “May I… Ask if you have poisoned me, my lord?”

“No, no, Harry, of course I have not. It is a simple precaution I had to take,” the Dark Lord elaborated, taking a much more comfortable and relaxed pose in his throne, now that there were no witnesses. His back ached unbearably so, and once again he contemplated an idea to replace this piece of wood with a comfortable armchair. Who cared what he sat on, really? “You see, the Resistance usually uses Veritaserum when they interrogate spies or witnesses, or whomever they fancy. And this sort of a vaccine that I’ve given you will make you immune to that potion. Though, it has its side effects, and it does take time for your body to adjust to it properly.”

“What kind of side effects?” Harry asked warily. Whatever Riddle had done to him – it didn’t sound good, and certainly didn’t feel like it.

“It also makes you immune to several pain relieving potions, since they share some ingredients with Veritaserum, and to several sleeping potions as well. Not that you might be needing any of those…” he laughed, coughing.

“Oh.” Was all that Harry could say to that. Now every time he would be tortured with Cruciatus he won’t be able to lessen the pain, he will have to bear with it. Wonderful, simply ingenious. Riddle knew what he was doing, he had everything planned and thought through to the very last detail.

“Tell me, Harry, I am naturally curious,” Voldemort inquired amusedly, “What have you told those little friends of yours, when they asked you about me? Surely, everybody knows that each and every recruit has to meet the Dark Lord in person before he can get his Mark. I wonder what was your answer, given that you never knew who I was at that time?”

Harry reddened in embarrassment. Everybody knew about this custom, except for him! How the hell was he supposed to know that? It was his father’s and Sirius’s job to warn him, but they never did. Why? What was the point of making him a spy, if they left him ignorant of every important piece of information that he actually needed to survive? The more he thought about it, the more it seemed to be a very heartless joke.

“I… Well, I never gave them any names, I simply said, that the Dark Lord has a special high ranking officer, whose job is to test the recruits…” he mumbled pitifully. And jumped up, startled by a loud bark of laughter that burst out of his master’s throat.

“Ah-ha-ha, oh, Harry!” Voldemort shook his head, cackling, “What do I do with you, your sheer talent for awkwardly doing just the right thing…”

“How do you mean, sir?” Confused Harry finally raised his eyes at the warlock, who was shaking in his seat.

“Oh, child, don’t you see, how perfect this is? Now they would certainly try to either bribe me as this mysterious officer, or sway to their side, or replace with an imposter. After they fail, they would, undoubtedly, put more spies and moles into the ranks of the Dark, and this is where Mr Riddle would really come in handy,” the Dark Lord explained, grinning and rubbing his hands together excitedly.

“Are you going to do it all yourself, sir?” Harry asked, astonished. He never thought of that.

“Of course not. I will find a suitable and trustworthy person for that, don’t worry. Nobody has ever seen Riddle, except for you, so nobody would suspect a thing.”

Voldemort took a long pause before speaking again, for he enjoyed looking into Harry’s green eyes, shining in fear, but not contempt. Unlike most of his servants and followers this wizard seemed to be completely indifferent to his condition and ugly appearance, if anything, young Potter sympathized with his troubles. If the Dark Lord was honest with himself, he found it very pleasant to see the sparks of interest, curiosity, hunger for knowledge in Harry’s eyes during their small, but exciting chit-chats. Nobody had looked at him in such a fashion for a very, very long time… He used to receive passionate looks, lustful, seductive, impressed - during last seven years of his life those turned into the looks of horror and disgust. To think that the last time he had managed to excite somebody so much with his intelligence and gloomy humor was, in fact, in Hogwarts, when he was a teenager…

Of course there were several people in his Inner Circle, who valued him for his wisdom, knowledge, skills and unbeatable power, but they were not Harry. They lacked what the boy had in abundance and what made him so fascinating: kindness. Harry was an open book, and a delightful read indeed. What a twist of fate it was, that he turned out to be a perfect combination of all the magics combined, a rare gift, that mother nature mercifully bestowed on them… What a twist of fate it was, that this Merlin in making just had to fall into the hands of the Dark? Voldemort smiled wondrously to himself.

“Harry, Harry,” he drawled, rocking his leg crossed over another, “No need to be afraid of me, child. No harm would come to you, for now.”

Harry didn’t reply to that – he didn’t know what to say. There was a question on the tip of his tongue, but he was terrified to ask it. Now that he was a Death Eater and now that he was going to spy for the Dark, what would happen to his friends? To all those people he had seen at the meetings of the Resistance? Would they force him to give up their names, or his memories of their faces? There was a tiny childish hope in his heart, that somehow the Dark Lord would forget about this altogether…

“I believe you are worrying for those little friends of yours, that were so stupid as to team up against me?” Voldemort asked snidely.

Harry was so strange, sometimes it was so easy to read his emotions and thoughts – one had to simply glance at his face briefly to see everything. But other times, and most of the times, he was a true mystery, veiled under layers and layers of feelings, that were very hard to sort through. Right now, it was obvious that he was worried for his ‘comrades’ from the Resistance, but there was something else on his mind, and Voldemort wished to find out what exactly.

“Unfortunately for me and fortunately for you, I am in no state to perform Legilimency in any way. However, it does make everything so much more fun, doesn’t it?” He snorted and rose up, to walk over to Harry, who was obviously burning up and was on the verge of losing consciousness. “How exciting it would be to discover each and every one of them and see your face at that very moment?”

“I wouldn’t know, sir… My lord,” Harry murmured, shaking all over and trying very hard to keep still.

“Hm…” He hummed, hearing Harry calling him by the wrong title again. “Perhaps, I would give you a little present to celebrate your marking. After all, you deserve it,” Voldemort smiled and bent down a little, to hold the wizard by his shoulders, leaned closer and whispered into his ear, “Riddle is my real human name, and you may call me by it in private, child. Let this be a lovely secret between us two.”

Harry stared at the maimed warlock in surprise. Riddle. A human name. He must have a first name as well… For some reason Harry imagined it could be something very simple like John or Bill, or even Bob. Bobbie Riddle. His brain was on fire, he couldn’t help it – he giggled.

“Ah, I see a real Harry Potter coming through again,” Voldemort noted, surprised by the reaction. “Would you mind sharing, what is so funny about my name?”

“Oh, no, sir,” Harry lowered his head, biting his dry lips and trying to stop laughing, but he simply couldn’t stop it, for his body was too weak to obey him. “This is so embarrassing,” he mumbled, giggling idiotically.

“It is indeed your lucky day, Harry,” the Dark Lord muttered, frowning ever so slightly, “Otherwise I would have burst into your mind and found out what it is exactly that you find so ridiculous, embarrassing.”

“No, no, sir, it’s me and my thoughts that are embarrassing, I am so sorry I made you think…” Harry blurted out, reddening and burning in his face even more so. “I, I simply imagined what could your first name be, and it made me laugh. I… Well, you know, sir, I… Bobbie Riddle,” he finally mumbled and hid his sweated face in his hands, giggling again.

“It might be the poison though,” Voldemort mused out loud, watching the boy and barely holding back his smile. Harry was still a child and was still capable of finding joy even in littlest, silliest of things. Bobbie Riddle. To think, that it could have been his name! Ridiculous. “My vaccine must have tempered with you brain, poor lad. Alright then, go home and get well. There is a lot of work ahead of us. And remember,” he raised his index finger warningly, and Harry instantly shut up and stared back at him very seriously, “I might not be able to legilimize you, but it is very hard to hide something or someone from me. So beware, Harry. Carefully choose whom to save and how to trick me, to not try my patience and the limit of my mercifulness.”

“I understand, sir,” Harry jerked his head, balling his hands into fists, for the room around him was spinning maddeningly.

“Go home, Harry,” Voldemort sighed and watched the boy stumble into the corridor and fall into the arms of his house elf. “Bobbie Riddle… I will hold you on this one, Harold Potter,” he growled lowly and shook his head, cackling in amusement.

XXX

“Did master tell you what this is?” Lucius asked Harry, inspecting his arm, that was swollen around the mark. Black veins surrounded the magical tattoo of a skull and a snake that kept swaying chaotically as if in pain. “Some kind of a venom?”

Harry sat on his bed, covered in blankets, while Dobby was fretting over him, placing wet compresses onto his brow and applying some sort of a healing cream onto his trembling, reddened arm. It itched terribly and it took all of Harry’s self-control not to scratch on it, at least not in front of Malfoy. It was enough that he had cried so pathetically back at Riddle’s manor.

“This is an antidote to Veritaserum and it will soon become a part of my immune system,” he explained quietly.

He was exhausted, completely drained of all of his powers and he dearly wished to sleep. However, seeing how worried his boss was, Harry couldn’t simply ask him to leave. Besides, he didn’t want him to leave – that he realized even in his condition. It was obvious that Lucius wasn’t going to truly forgive him soon, but he honestly wished to make it up to him. Surprisingly, Harry felt relieved now that he didn’t have to lie anymore – the closer he and Lucius became the harder it was for him to betray the only person, who seemed to care for him like nobody had ever before.

“Dobby, it’s no use, this thing also makes me immune to pain relievers,” he sighed wanly, pitying the poor creature, who had become attached to him so quickly and so strongly.

“How long would it take you to recover?” Lucius looked up, peering into Harry’s worn face, desperately wishing to touch it, to comfort the poor boy, who was obviously suffering. But the bland pain still lingered somewhere deep inside his soul and in his heart that, fortunately, had been already broken and suffered very little damage this time.

“He never told me,” Harry shook his head, hunching his shoulders even more. He could barely sit, let alone hold his back straight.

“Lie down then, and rest as much as needed. Our lord’s potion experiments are better not to be joked with.” He helped Harry to slowly lower his body onto the mattress and tucked him in, very much like he used to do, when Draco was a little boy.

“Mr Malfoy, sir…” Harry began, but was interrupted by a small, tired but nonetheless kind and warm smile that stretched the wizard’s lips.

“It’s Lucius, Harry.”

“I am sorry, I can’t get used to calling you by the first name,” he mumbled, coiling on his side and sighing heavily. He wanted to apologize again and again, but felt it wouldn’t be welcome now.

“You will, in time. What is it that you wanted to ask?” Lucius smiled again, livelier now. He too was tired and emotionally strained, and also dreamed of going to bed, but not his own.

“What did you feel when you were marked?”

In truth, Harry didn’t feel anything beside the pain from the poison. He thought he was supposed to start feeling differently, like a man whose soul had been sold to another. But nothing of a sort seemed to have happened. His magic was still his own, as was his body, even though it wasn’t very reliable at present, and his soul, wherever it resided, belonged to him. He tried to imagine a state that a slave must exist in and found he couldn’t. He even fantasized that he would become… Evil. Tainted, corrupt. Or something like that. But he was still himself, there was nothing of Voldemort inside him except for the mark.

“You are looking for an excuse to become a criminal, aren’t you?” Lucius chuckled, patting the wizard on the shoulder hidden under layers of covers. “There is nothing unhealthy in our servitude to the Dark Lord unless you yourself wish it to be destructive. For example, Madame Lestrange, my wife’s younger sister, is that kind of a person. For her this servitude is an opportunity to go wild and execute the worst of her desires and ideas. She is, to put it mildly, a little nuts,” he drawled sarcastically and grinned brightly, when Harry snorted sleepily at his remark. “Bellatrix lets the darkness possess and enslave her, destroy her mind, and she enjoys it,” he added somewhat sympathetically.

“But if such cruelty and bloodlust is his servants’ own doing, why does the Dark Lord let them taint their souls so much? Why wouldn’t he stop them from turning into psychopaths?” Harry murmured, creasing his brow slightly in deep, though rather hazy thought.

“They all serve their purpose, Harry,” Lucius sighed. This was a very unpleasant topic to discuss, but Harry would have posed these questions sooner or later anyway. “It is cruel and heartless of him to let them slide the wrong paths and simply watch them destroy themselves, but this is the way he won this war. By using these people and their desires to his benefit.”

“Isn’t he responsible for his own servants?”

“He is picky in that regard,” he winked at Harry mirthlessly, “You and I are still alive, aren’t we?”

“I keep looking for something, for some kind of a reflection or a sensation of being owned. But I find none,” Harry told him seriously and yawned into the pillow, hiding under the covers.

“I believe it is the same for every one of us,” Lucius murmured thoughtfully. “You only feel that the Dark Lord owns you and your life when he punishes you or, on the contrary, saves and cherishes you.”

“He saves people?” Harry was surprised to hear that. After Riddle had butchered Pettigrew right in front of him, he could hardly imagine such a picture in his mind.

“You don’t know him at all, dear Harry,” Lucius smiled at him condescendingly. “As I have already told you before – he is much more than what meets the eye. If you are loyal to him, you would receive twice as much in return for your servitude. I know that for certain.”

“So you don’t regret the choice you’ve made?”

Harry thought it was too early for him to have regrets either, but he knew that everything would change after the first real punishment he got. He naively hoped that he would escape the horrible prospect of killing another human being, but his rationality mocked his childishness – how was it possible to avoid deaths, being a Death Eater? And he was convinced that he would never be able to forgive himself for taking somebody’s life. Thus, he was already preparing himself to be punished every time he refused to kill on Riddle’s orders.

“I regret great many things and deeds in my life, Harry,” Lucius replied quietly, taking his time to consider what to say. “There had been good and bad times in the course of my servitude to the Dark Lord. It is impossible to not have regrets, impossible to live without losses, be they material or spiritual. In the end, when I think back on everything I have been through,” he murmured slowly, having had involuntarily placed his right palm over his left forearm, where his own mark was drawn, “I don’t regret joining the Dark and Lord Voldemort. I believe that there would have been much more grief in my life, if I hadn’t.”

He then glanced at Harry and noticed, that the wizard was staring at his arm. Smiling sadly, Lucius rolled up his sleeve and demonstrated his own skull and snake, coal black against his naturally pale skin.

“I don’t see this as a brand, Harry, nor do I see it as a permission to act on my darkest desires, like vengeance, wrath, jealousy. With years it became a simple reminder of who I am and what I am responsible for. And also a reminder that I have a person I can always confide in, ask for advice… Legilimency is very painful, believe me, our lord never makes it easy for us, so I prefer to tell him everything personally and honestly.” He laughed soundlessly at his last words and shook his head, as if chiding himself for his cowardice.

“He seems to be very perceptive and always knows what’s on my mind,” Harry muttered, remembering the warning, that he had been given. To be careful in choosing whom to save, and how to trick… His gut told him there already was a trick in the very words that Riddle said. And Harry hated situations in which he didn’t know how to behave himself and what to do.

“That he is. The Dark Lord is a genius warlock and a great leader – otherwise he wouldn’t have achieved so much, would he?” Seeing that Harry was yawning again and that his eyes were tightly closed, Lucius once again patted him on the shoulder and sighed, “Sleep, Harry, gain your strength back. I won’t survive without you in my office with all these papers and letters, so get well soon, alright?”

“Alright, Lucius,” Harry yawned, falling into a heavy slumber. He thought he felt cool fingers caress his cheek, but was too tired to pay it any attention. Darkness, warm and tender, embraced him.

XXX

Almost ten days have passed before Harry finally felt better and was able to return to the Ministry. Malfoy was livid, for just as ill luck would have it, so much work had piled up on his department and he had no wish to find a replacement for such a short term, and therefore, Harry’s first day at the office was a disaster. He thought he will be sick again from the amount of papers, letters and orders, bills, reports that he had to check, sign, copy and send further. His head was spinning and by the end of the day he barely crawled out of the office and into the main hall to return to the manor by the public floo, since, again, very fortunately, Lucius’s fireplace stopped working and wasn’t going to be fixed until tomorrow afternoon.

He raised his right foot to step into the hearth, when a booming voice of Lord Greengrass made him freeze.

“Potter! Thank Salazar you haven’t left yet, I need you to follow me, now!”

Harry didn’t thank Salazar for that, but dutifully turned around and shuffled his feet towards the lifts, following a short but strong man, dressed in dark blue robes. Phoebus Greengrass, whose bald patch reflected the lights right on the very top of his head and made Harry dizzy, was the Head of the Crime Investigation Department, and it was his responsibility to solve all kinds of felonies an delinquencies that were usually represented by murders and thefts.

“Where is Jeoffrey, sir? I thought I saw him just this morning,” Harry asked the broad and straight back of Draco’s soon to be father-in-law. The mere thought of the ferret getting married made him want to throw up.

“Well, you won’t see this poor excuse of assistant any time soon, this idiot got attacked by a bloody troll! Useless piece of pureblood meat!” Lord Greengrass spat, scaring everybody around – it was a rather comical coincidence that such a harsh, deafening voice came out of such a small body. Harry darted after him into the empty lift and they rode a few levels down. “I gave him one simple task, to go and collect evidence…” he grumbled angrily, but suddenly stopped, took a long deep breath and sighed heavily. “I know it’s not your job and you’re not supposed to do it, but since you are a bright lad and a reliable one as well, and since we are fellow comrades, I’d rather you completed the files than anybody else. Besides, it was your case as well.”

Harry had no idea what the man was talking about, but he solemnly listened and nodded when it was needed. Whatever it was, he had to do it, so there was no difference, really.

They walked down the corridor and entered the evidence room, that was so huge, Harry was certain a Hogwarts could easily fit into it. Endless rows of boxes and case files stood here, alphabetically organized and sealed by high ranking officers of three departments. This room was created right after Voldemort had seized the power over Britain, and half of its contents was still unsorted – those were the cases from as far as XII century, but since there were no reliable witnesses to confirm the information, nobody wanted to deliberately get themselves a headache going through the past. It lay forgotten, but safe.

“This Plummer case,” Greengrass began, when they reached eleventh row and turned to the left, “We’ve collected what we could, but there isn’t much to go on. Chemical analysis of liquids and soil took a century, only Merlin knows why, so nothing had been reported yet or even recorded. So I need you to make a record of each and every piece of evidence that we have, inspect and make a comprehensible copy of the autopsy and prepare a report for me. I, in turn, will present it to the Dark Lord. I believe you can imagine how quick you must be, right?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry rasped, swallowing harshly. He had completely forgotten about it! He didn’t expect to be involved in the investigation at all, but he hadn’t even thought about poor Plummer once, ever since they’ve found him.

“It must be ready by tomorrow’s morning, before the meeting of the Inner Circle. So, as you very well understand, you must bring it to me tonight, in an hour, an hour and half, not later. Understood?” The wizard finally turned around and looked at Harry expectantly.

“Yes, sir,” Harry bowed respectfully.

“I wish Jeoffrey was as sound as you are,” Greengrass muttered tiredly, jerked his head curtly and hurriedly left.

Heaving a long sigh of exhaustion, Harry levitated two small boxes from the shelves and onto the working table and sat down to make the record of their contents. There were a few coins out of the victim’s pockets, a broken key from presumably his vault at Gringotts, a few sweets, a quill, a map of England, covered in his blood.

“Oh, god,” Harry hastily put it away, hiding out of his sight.

There was some more rubbish like papers, nails, buttons and such and he meticulously cataloged each and every one of them, and compared his list to the one provided by the criminologists. He sat, hunched, with his head propped up on his left hand and his eyes barely open. He really needed to get a decent night’s sleep…

While going through the second box and trying to guess the difference between two absolutely identical vials of some mud, Harry stumbled upon a very curious particle. It was a piece of checkered cloth, torn off of a shirt. A flannel shirt to be exact. The longer Harry stared at this thing, the harder his hands shook. He knew this shirt, Merlin almighty, he knew it, he personally bought it at a huge sale at one of the muggle shops on Oxford Street – this shirt was a birthday present for Ron in their seventh year at Hogwarts. The redhead was crazy about muggle clothes and it was a tradition for Harry to buy his friend a thing or two of the coolest, most fashionable stuff that the kids wore…

“You are so fucked, Ron Weasley, you have no fucking idea,” he whispered, squeezing the blasted piece in his hand. It was marked on the list as an important evidence, since it didn’t come from the victim, but was marred in his blood and found in his grasp. It came from the killer.

What do I do, what do I do?! Harry dropped the cloth onto the table and pushed his hands into his unruly hair, completely lost and terribly frightened. He and Ron might have become distant and, maybe, even hateful towards each other, but that didn’t mean he didn’t care for his once best friend. And it certainly didn’t mean that he was going to let him die… But… But it meant that Ron was the one, who killed Plummer… Harry refused to believe that Ron could murder someone, let alone, his supposed comrade…

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” He didn’t know what to do, he didn’t know. He couldn’t ask Malfoy for help! And Riddle’s warning instantly popped up in his memory. Be careful whom to save. Merlin, could the Dark Lord have known about this beforehand?! Was this another test or what?!

Harry decided to act on impulse, since his rationality demanded to stand aside and do nothing. He sprung on his feet, hid the cloth in his inner pocket and packed everything up, sealed and put back in its place. He ran down the corridor towards the lifts, inwardly wondering how he would explain everything to Greengrass, to Lucius and to Riddle. How would he?

Panting like a racing horse he jumped into the carriage, collided with random ministry’s employee, gritted an apology and darted out one level down before the main hall as soon as the doors began opening. Games and Sports Department was full of people, since the Quidditch season had just recently started and all the teams fought for their right to reserve the best days and nights for practices. Harry elbowed his way through the crowd of sweating, stinking men and froze in the middle of corridor, when he got to the lockers and changing rooms, staring around helplessly. How was he supposed to find Ron?

“Harry, what are you doing here?” Ginny’s hand hit him on his shoulder lightly.

“Oh, Ginny, hi,” he panted out, grimacing, as he tried to smile, “I need Ron, it’s very urgent, very bloody urgent…”

“Ok, ok, fine, just breathe, I’ll go get him. He and Lee Jordan are trying to play a prank on Goyle,” she placated him, eyeing him speculatively.

Oh, he knew that look too well. Nobody trusted him anymore. Whenever he met his classmates and others, who were not very fond of the Dark Regime, they all averted their eyes and hardly spoke to him at all. Not that he had been popular before, but such hostility was truly disheartening sometimes. And now that the news of his marking were going to spread around as well, he bitterly realized, that he had to prepare himself for something even worse...

It took Ginny almost two minutes – during which Harry hysterically paced the small space between the walls of a narrow corridor and glared at every player, who tried to brush past him. Every second was golden, why was it taking her so bloody long?! The frustration, saved up after the terribly tiresome day, was finally getting to Harry, not to mention the dread, that made him shiver and burn up with fever yet again.

“The fuck are you doing there, I said it’s urgent!” He snapped at his once best friend, who lazily came out of the door, wet and almost naked, with a red gryffindor towel hanging loosely around his waist.

“Wow, Harry, nice to see you too, mate,” Ron replied loudly, pretending that he was happy to see him. “What’s the rush?”

“We need some place private,” Harry muttered and grabbed the tall beater by the wet arm. There weren’t many options to choose from – they soon found themselves locked in a dark broom closet.

“This is your idea of private?” Ron drawled skeptically. “Alright, what the hell did you forget in my Department? Make it quick, though, I want to see Goyle use that lovely Scorpio Bite soap, that Fred made.”

“This!” Harry waved the piece of the shirt into his freckled face, lighting up his wand. “This was found in Plummer’s hand!”

“So what?” Weasley lifted his shoulders up indifferently, but Harry knew him too well. Ron could never lie without giving himself away.

“Oh, so I should put it back into the evidence report and let them arrest you, right? Oh, alright, sorry for taking trouble of saving your stupid arse!” Harry spat angrily and moved to open the door and leave, but the wizard stopped him.

“Wait, Harry…”

“What, you’re talking now?” he hissed, and tore his hand out of the other’s grasp. “How could you do it? How could you… Kill somebody? One of your own?!”

“I had no choice.” Ron’s face was green – he lost all of his cheek and superiority and now was looking meekly at Harry, helpless and obviously frightened to death.

“There is always a choice,” he replied, heaving a long and shuttered breath. Even he had a choice every time he made his own bad decision. At least he liked to believe that he had. “What am I to do now, Ron? This report must be presented to the Dark Lord by tomorrow’s morning, which means I have to complete it now and send to Greengrass for inspection – after he is finished he would seal it magically and only Voldemort would be able to open it! Imagine his surprise when he finds out that Harry Potter’s best friend is the fucking killer!”

“I don’t know, Harry, I don’t know!” the wizard shook his head in denial and grabbed on his own ginger hair in desperation.

“What have you been thinking?!”

“Oh, don’t go all Hermione on me, alright?! What have you been thinking when you sent your father abroad behind our backs?” Ron retorted angrily, though his anger was clearly aimed at his own pitiful self.

It was only then that Harry noticed dark circles under his friend’s eyes – the freckled face looked sunken and worn. Ron hadn’t been sleeping. His consciousness was tormenting his soul, that mourned the horrible crime, that it had to commit.

“This is not about me, I am not going to be executed for murder!” Harry tried to compose himself. It was obvious that Ron wasn’t capable of thinking rationally. Judging by his hollow, lifeless gaze, he was already imagining himself torn to shreds by one of the Death Eater’s nasty spells. “Listen, we have five, ten minutes at most to do something about this,” he shook the cloth, clenched tightly in his fist, in front of wizard’s nose. “Greengrass knows I am still sick and I will be able to excuse my tardiness, but his generosity and understanding have their limits.”

“Can’t we just destroy it?” Ron asked hopefully.

“No, it’s already on the list, it’s the most important evidence marked by criminologists, because it belongs to a killer,” Harry replied dryly. “There was a fight between you two, I gather?” It was difficult to imagine Ron taking somebody’s life. He was an impulsive boy, yes, but he had never been violent or malevolent.

“Don’t ask…” He looked away, ashamed.

“I have to ask, because there is plenty of mud and other liquids in the evidence list, what if something else of yours got in there?”

“He grabbed me by the shirt, asking to spare him, I shot an Avada Kedavra at him and he fell, tearing it down with his hand… I left right after that…” Ron glanced at Harry and cowered under his intent, unforgiving look. “What, if the Dark Bastard will order you to kill, will you be able to dismiss his order, to tell him off?” he cried defiantly.

Harry had never seen Ron like this before, he looked transformed, as if the very sin he had committed reflected on his face, that was a contorted mask, a distorted mirror. Harry couldn’t help but think of Dr Jekyll’s alter-ego Mr Hyde, whose crimes changed the poor doctor’s appearance and finally destroyed his soul.

“Ron, I sold my soul to the devil, I am already burning in Hell. You, on the other hand, can still get out of this mess, you must get out of it! If they arrest you, do you know what would happen to your family? Each and every one of them would be tortured under suspicion of treason and don’t doubt even for a second – they won’t go easy on blood-traitors.”

Ron flinched violently at these words and grabbed Harry by the hands, whispering hurriedly into his face, “No, no, if they find out about Fred, George and Dad?! No, no, we can’t let that happen, we can’t…”

“Calm down,” Harry said, squeezing his sweaty hands back. “I have already thought of a possible way to exclude you out of this investigation.” Of course ha had, he had came up with this idea even before he crossed the threshold of the Evidence Room.

“What do I have to do?” The pale blue eyes radiated readiness and fear. At least there was no madness in them anymore.

“Put your trousers and cloak on, and take me to the moors, where you killed him. To the road that lies a few miles north, or, better, if you know any muggle town around,” he said, creasing his brow and finally stepping out of the closet and into the crowded corridor. “I’ll wait by the lifts, hurry up.”

Ron darted into the changing room without saying anything in reply. He appeared by Harry’s side in approximately forty seconds, panting like a beast, reddened, but fully clothed.

“Wouldn’t it be suspicious, if we were to leave the Ministry together, while you are supposed to work with the evidence?” He finally asked a sane, logical question.

“No, because we won’t leave the usual way,” Harry said quietly and pulled him by the sleeve of the jacket to join him in the second carriage, that was, fortunately, empty. “As Malfoy’s assistant I am allowed to use a special exit into the muggle underground tunnels.” He pushed the lowest button, that was signed as “Ministry Archives”, where, in fact, Inquisitor’s Dungeons were now situated. Luckily for Harry nobody was working there today, since Madame Lestrange was away on the Dark Lord’s business – and without her supervision nobody could interrogate the prisoners.

They quickly crossed the spacious hall, passing by the arches, that led into the narrow corridors of holding cells, where quiet crying could be heard. Harry had been here only once before, and he had witnessed horrible things then, the ones he stored deep inside his memory and locked down as tightly as he could with the help of his slowly but steadily progressing occluding skills. He only prayed he would never have to die here, he’d rather he died on the battlefield.

They soon reached the old, iron door, that slid to the side at Harry’s touch – it worked only from the blood of the highest officials and their assistants. The concealing charms, that protected the Ministry from the outside muggle world, ended right at the threshold and both Ron and Harry froze, deafened by the loud din of the trains and blinded by the lights, flickering in the opening.

“Now we can safely travel by a port-key,” Harry finally rasped and shoved his quill into his friend’s hands. “Make the key, I don’t know the destination.”

“A-alright,” Ron stared at it dumbly for a moment, clearly too unfocused and upset to concentrate on something so complex. “Portus,” he mumbled, pointing his wand at the feather and once again glanced up at Harry with that hurt and lost expression in his eyes.

But Harry couldn’t find any pity for him, he simply couldn’t accept that fact, that this boy, whom he used to see as the best man in the whole world, could fall so low, could do something so atrocious and inhuman in the name of only god knows what. Though, if he thought about and if he were sincere with himself, Harry would have to admit, that, were he in Ron’s shoes at that time, he might have been forced to do just the same… After all, he didn’t know the whole story…

They’ve landed at the outskirts of the small muggle village, not very far from the crime scene. It was already dark outside and the first stars lit their way as they quickly ran towards the houses.

“What are you planning to do?” Ron asked breathlessly, while running after Harry, “You can’t use magic to exchange it for a similar one – then it would be your magical trace in the evidence instead of mine.”

“That’s what you think,” Harry replied, not turning back to look at him, “It is just a question of one’s limits.”

They’ve reached the first lawn and simultaneously jumped over the garden wall, barely escaping the thorny currant bushes. Since it was summer, most housekeepers dried their clothes outside and that was what Harry was aiming for. He lit up his wand and signed for Ron to do the same and look for any checkered shirt, that would resemble his. It took some time and seven or eight backyards, until finally Harry stumbled upon a very nice exemplar, also made of flannel.

“Come here, I need your hair,” he whispered at Ron, who jogged towards him from the other lawn.

“Whatever for?” the redhead asked, surprised, looking the newly found shirt over with a critical glance.

“To perform a ritual, I need two donors – myself and you,” Harry explained impatiently and tore the shirt out of the other’s hold. He bent down to draw the pentagram on the bare, trampled ground.

“A ritual?” Ron plunged down onto the grass, staring at the wizard in wonder. Harry looked almost like a deadman in the light of the moon, so pale he was, still recovering from the sickness, so serious and concentrated he was – his face seemed to be made out of stone. Thin lips kept moving almost unnoticeably, chanting the words Ron could never understand. “How come you know all this weird stuff? Isn’t this supposed to be a very dark magic?”

“It is,” Harry said simply, placed the shirt into the center of the pentagram and waved his wand over it – it changed its colour and pattern into a perfect copy of Ron’s damaged piece of cloth. Harry reached out and tore a few strands of hair off of the boy’s head.

“Oi! Is that necessary?” he hissed, whimsically rubbing on the sore spot, feeling for the bald patch.

“Dark magic requires sacrifices, haven’t you listened to anything that Snape told us in class? This particular ritual requires one small forcibly taken and one significantly larger, willingly given,” he added somewhat ruefully and produced a small silver dagger out of his inner pocket. Before Ron could ask what the fuck was he going to do, Harry slashed the blade across his palm and, having had balled his fist, sprinkled the shirt with his blood.

“Shite, Harry, this is sick!” Ron muttered, astonished and very uncomfortable with the display.

He knew, of course, that Harry was very talented when it came to creating spells and all sorts of nasty pranks, but he never deemed it necessary to ask what was his friend doing when he didn’t hang out with him and Hermione, which happened quite often, now that he thought about it. And during the last two years at Hogwarts Harry barely spent time with them at all, constantly disappearing for hours, sometimes for nights even, only Merlin knew where.

“How long have you been practicing dark magic?” he asked very quietly, watching Harry wave his hands and chanting some crazy nonsense with such speed, that his lips seemed blurry from the constant vibration.

“Almost four years now.” His voice was thick and hollow from the spelling. Harry blew out the candles, that instantly disappeared, and finally stood up, looking at his wristwatch warily. “We have to leave now, I have been absent for almost twenty minutes already.”

He picked the shirt up and tore its hem into shreds, as he started walking back, gradually mending his pace.

“Wait, what?! Blimey! Four years?” Ron ran after him, agitated and completely blown away by the news. “But why… Why didn’t we know about it?!”

“Because you would have certainly judged me, just like you are doing now,” Harry threw over his shoulder. “I’m not interrogating you about the crime you’ve committed, so, please, do refrain from lecturing me about my magic as well.”

“I’m not!” Ron huffed. “In fact, I’m not surprised that all those shite-eaters like you so much, now everything is so bloody clear! You’re just one of them, aren’t ya?!” He shouted at Harry’s back.

This was it. Pale and shaken by the wrath that took him over, Harry stopped abruptly and turned around sharply to look at the redheaded idiot.

“This is what you’re giving me in return for risking my life to save you? You are telling me that I am tainted? That I am a murderer? Yes, I am one of them, Ron, I fucking am,” he hissed coldly and angrily pulled his sleeve up to demonstrate the stark black tattoo on his forearm, the snake dancing wildly around the skull in a vicious triumph, drunk on the strong emotions of its bearer. “I never asked for this! I never wanted to become somebody else’s cattle!”

Voldemort’s words once again came to his mind. Choose carefully whom to save. Harry didn’t expect much from Ron, but he at least thought that his friend would be grateful for being saved from the inevitable death. He was once again gravely mistaken.

“But why the fuck would you practice dark magic, being a light wizard, being a Potter for Merlin’s sake?!” Ron clasped his hands helplessly, staring at Harry in dismay.

“We don’t have time to discuss my motives, Ron,” Harry gritted out and took the port-key out of his pocket and flung it at the wizard. “Return wherever you want to, I will apparate myself back to the Ministry.”

“But it’s impossible to apparate at such distance!” Ron thought that Harry had gone insane, that the Death Eaters had driven him mad.

“Thanks to the dark magic, I can trespass the boundaries of time and space,” Harry told him coldly and vanished into the thin air.

The worst thing about this whole unpleasant affair was that he knew all too well that should Ron get into trouble again – he won’t be able to stand aside and watch. He would once again risk everything to save him. Sometimes Harry hated himself for being such a gryffindor.

Half an hour later he was standing in Greengrass’s office, waiting for the wizard to review his report. This place looked very much like Malfoy’s tea parlour, only instead of paintings on the walls here hung photographs from crime scenes, portraits of the wanted criminals and maps of different parts of the country, covered in colourful pins.

“Have you taken this piece of cloth to the laboratory for a magical residue check?” Greengrass murmured absentmindedly, reading the text.

“Yes, sir. The results are coming any second now,” Harry dutifully informed him, nervously twisting his fingers behind his back. It was now that they were going to find out if his ritual had worked at all and if he had managed to save Ron’s long, stupid neck. He still felt furious and hurt about what happened between them – it seemed that whatever bridge he’d cross it burned down immediately after that and there was no way to build it up again.

“Hm-mm,” the wizard hummed in reply and took off his small reading glasses, to rub on the tired eyes. “You did well, Potter. Let’s just hope that this test would give us anything useful, otherwise the Dark Lord would certainly be very displeased,” he sighed heavily, massaging his temples.

“Let’s hope so, sir,” Harry nodded, sympathizing with the man, who was one of the oldest members of the Inner Circle and therefore knew better than anybody else just how exactly the Dark Lord would show his disappointment. “How are Ladies Astoria and Daphne doing?” He decided it would be nice to change the subject for a little while.

“Oh, they are blooming alright, my little flowers,” Greengrass failed to suppress a soft smile at the thought of his daughters. “We have almost six months until the wedding, but Astoria is already driving everybody crazy with the preparations. I dread the numbers that Gringotts would withdraw from my accounts,” he muttered humourously, for the first time giving Harry a simple, kind look over. “The girls seem to like you, lad.”

“They enjoyed my pranks at the school, sir,” Harry modestly smiled in return. “I am certain, she would be the most beautiful bride.”

“Aren’t you thinking about marriage yet? It seems to be fashionable again to marry early nowadays,” the wizard laughed, relaxing back in his armchair.

“Oh, no, sir, I haven’t really thought about it yet. I don’t even know any girl I like or see as my wife…” Harry admitted shyly, lowering his gaze and blushing. “I can’t say I am very experienced in the matters of relationships either.”

“Ah, Lucius should take you to a brothel some time, there is a good one at the Knockturn,” Greengrass winked at him, smiling slyly. “It’s not about relationships, Potter, it’s all about sex and money. We all know that Astoria and Draco are marrying each other’s vaults. Ha, I’d say it’s me and Lucius who are going to be the real spouses in this marriage!” he threw his head back, shaken with his own booming laughter. “We, purebloods, marry for the blood and for the income only. And love and sex – all these pleasures could be found elsewhere. Many of our comrades even sleep with muggle prostitutes… Well, what do you know? Whatever tickles their fancy, I say.” He lay back, with his hands crossed behind his head, and shut his eyes, smiling at the memories, that Harry sincerely wished were not going to be shared with him.

And just when Greengrass opened his mouth to bestow another wisdom upon the young and green assistant, an envelope with the test results popped out of the small hearth, that was used for the criminalistic correspondence only.

“Ah, and here is the final blow to my evening,” the man grudgingly noted and stretched his back, before leaning over his desk. “Potter, pass it, will you? I am too tired to even get out of the chair.”

“Yes, sir, of course,” Harry hurried to comply and got the warm letter out and held it over to the wizard.

“And here I hoped against all odds, that there would be at least one clue…” Greengrass sighed disappointedly, after having had glanced at the short message. Harry thought he was going to faint from the wave of relief, that washed over him. “The cloth comes from muggles. I doubt he was mugged amidst the moors, in the middle of nowhere…”

“I am sorry, sir, that the results failed your expectations,” Harry bowed apologetically, hardly breathing, still overwhelmed and high on adrenaline.

“No, no, it’s fine… At least I won’t get crucioed. Not that I do not wish for our lord to get better soon, but, Salazar, isn’t it convenient, that he is so sick he can’t torture us for our incompetence?” The wizard shook his head, sighing heavily again. “Go home, Potter, you did well, I will send Lucius my regards for your service later.”

“Thank you, sir, good night,” Harry once again bowed and left the office, smiling to himself in relief. However, his heart still felt heavy in his chest. It wasn’t a victory today, but yet another defeat – he lost Ron forever. He was all alone now.

XXX

Even though Lucius checked up on Harry every evening, that the boy was chained to bed by his fever, and even though he had told him that he forgave him, he still felt hurt by the betrayal. The only notion that somehow smoothened the disgusting, nauseating feeling in the pit of his stomach, was that the truth was revealed before any real, irreversible damage could have been done. He wanted to curse the young wizard badly, to crucio him, to simply explain how much pain and humiliation he had almost gone through because of him… Yet he wanted to forgive him and show him how kind and affectionate he could be even more so…

All of these contradicting, overwhelming emotions only worsened his sexual frustration. He even considered to fuck Narcissa last night, but one cold, affronted glare of hers was enough to cool down his libido and send him to spend the night in his study, wide awake and restless. Fucking her would have been very close to fucking a bucket of ice, anyway. He had a spare bedroom to sleep in, of course, he simply couldn’t put his mind to it. More then once Lucius passed Harry’s door by, uncertainly staring at the handle, but every time he did that he retreated back into the study and drowned his desires at the bottom of a bourbon glass, powerlessly sprawling his body in his armchair.

And tonight he was once again submitting himself to yet another fruitless attempt to satisfy his first priority urges. A hot bath awaited him, but after his body relaxed and adjusted to the heat, Lucius found he was simply too tired to masturbate. No matter how hard he stroked it, his penis remained flaccid, and his mind kept wandering to the marking ceremony, to Harry’s tear-stained face, to his green eyes begging for forgiveness. Why was it so much easier to say the words, but not to actually execute his promise? His pride was hurt too deeply to let go of such an insult so lightly. The last time he was certain he would die of embarrassment, when the supposed assistant turned into an ugly, almost fifty year old muggleborn…

Groaning at the sickening memories, Lucius hurried to get out of the water and get dressed. He was so grateful to the Dark Lord for revealing Harry’s lies right after the marking and before… Everything. It seemed that the warlock had also developed a liking to young Potter, otherwise, he would have never saved their dignities and simply sat back and watched the show, that could stretch for moths, years even…

Shaking off the sensation of a nearly escaped death-like experience, Lucius arrived into his study only to find Harry sitting there at the opposite side of his desk, writing something in his working journal.

“Harry? Why aren’t you sleeping?” he inquired apathetically, slowly coming to sit in his chair, watching the wizard all the while. The boy sat slumped against the desk, resting his head on his left hand, propped up on the elbow upon several papers.

“Mr M… Lucius,” Harry stumbled sleepily, straightening, “I… I want to sleep, but I can’t. I was so tired after yesterday’s first day after my short leave, and today was hardly better… I think I’m too exhausted to even sleep,” he mumbled, rubbing on his puffy eyes.

“So you’ve decided to do my job for me?” He couldn’t resist the smile, that stretched his lips. A young man of Harry’s age could have found something much more pleasant and interesting to busy himself with during the sleepless night instead of working.

“I know how tired you are, sir,” Harry told him coyly. “You had some hard time managing it all without me, I only wish to help.”

“This is very considerate of you, Harry, thank you,” Lucius sighed, feeling the pleasant warmth creeping up into his heart. How easily this boy made him feel so much better with an elementary display of kindness. “But you really shouldn’t strain yourself so much, nights are made for resting or indulging one’s self in pleasures, that couldn’t be possibly taken care of during the day. I am certain you have a good pile of books to read by your bed, or, perhaps, you could go play quidditch at the stadium. I know you are a very talented flyer,” he murmured softly.

“I don’t feel like reading, and as for playing…” Harry frowned ever so slightly, “I have nobody to play with now. I am, to put it mildly, an outcast.”

“Ah, I see,” Lucius nodded, wincing sympathetically. Yes, he had completely forgotten, that all of Harry’s classmates and friends were light and instantly turned him away after he started working at the Under Secretary’s office. “Have they already discovered that you were marked? We do not advertise the names of the newcomers in our midst, you know that.”

“I have no idea, if they know. They probably do,” he muttered, thinking back on Ron. His friend had a long tongue and a very dirty mouth when it came to sharing secrets of those who had wronged him somehow. And in his eyes Harry was practically an enemy now. “Anyway, there is no point in flying in loneliness. I’d rather put myself to some use.”

“Harry,” he murmured, feeling sorry for the wizard being cut off by the society. However, the boy was better off without them, they couldn’t offer him anything anymore, for he was already out of their league, he was on the very top of the food chain. “You need to learn to relax. It is vital, for this job tends to get to you sometimes, and you have to learn to escape it to keep your sanity intact, believe me and my experience.”

“But I don’t know how to… Relax,” Harry bit out, reddening and lowering his gaze shyly.

“Lord Greengrass here sent me his regards, telling me all about what a wonderful help you have been, and he strongly suggested that I should take you to a brothel,” Lucius told him humourously, grinning despite himself. “How do you find his advice? I am convinced we should follow it,” he added cunningly.

“To a brothel?” Harry’s head shot up, as did his eyebrows, painting his face a comical grimace of surprise and horror mixed together and flavoured with a most exquisite tinge of scarlet colour, indicating how embarrassed he was by simply imagining a trip to such an establishment.

“He suspects you to be a virgin, Harry,” Lucius chortled, pursing his lips to prevent himself from laughing out loud. “Is he right?”

“Does it make me unqualified for the job?” Harry retorted in mild irritation, fuming on the inside. What kind of question it was to be discussed so lightly? It was his private business, after all.

“On the contrary, I would be positively happy to introduce you to the world of physical pleasures,” Lucius smiled hungrily. “You need it, Harry. No man can survive this job and such responsibilities, that were laid onto your shoulders, without any means to cope with it, to relieve the tension.”

“Is it really that necessary?” he whispered desperately, seeing the terrifying gleam of resolution in the pale grey eyes of his boss.

“It is mandatory, Harry,” Lucius purred and stood up, summoning his cloak. “Put something on and we are set to go.”

“What, now?!” Harry rose up sharply, staring at the man in horror.

“Well, you can postpone it endlessly, until you are old and grey and an impotent, but, trust me, Harry, you don’t want to meet such an end,” the wizard laughed, winking at him. He summoned his other cloak and threw it over the boy’s shoulders. “You will enjoy it.”

Harry was too slow to resist the forced side-apparation and a second later found himself standing right in front of the tall, dark building somewhere at the Knockturn; a bright red shining sign of a girl spreading her legs teasingly told him exactly what this place was. Before he could protest, Lucius pushed him inside and immediately he was surrounded by three barely clothed witches, who shamelessly pawed him, crooning over his appetizing looks.

“Help this young man gain some experience in the art of sexual pleasures,” Malfoy ordered lazily and watched, burning with jealousy, how his assistant was taken upstairs against his will. But Harry never drew his wand, because even if his mind was against fucking, his body most certainly wasn’t.

“Whose services would you be needing tonight, your lordship?” Madame Lorel, the mistress of the brothel, approached him with a knowing smile playing on her plump lips, covered in a thick layer of purple lipstick. He was one of her favourite clients, since he always left quite generous tips.

“Nobody, Madame,” he took her hand, covered in a netted glove, and brought it close to his lips but never kissed it. “I would like to watch over my young assistant tonight.”

“Whatever you wish, sir, whatever you wish,” she moaned submissively and, taking him under the arm, accompanied him upstairs and into the small, darkened room, designed specifically for peeping at what was going on in one of the bedrooms.

Lucius sat down into an armchair before a huge glass and watched the girls tease Harry on the other side of the mirror.

“Is it your first time, sweetie?” one of them asked in a small voice, crawling into his lap. “Don’t be so nervous, darling, we will show you how much you’ve missed.”

“I… I don’t…” Harry began worming his way out of this, but was silenced with a kiss from another witch, who had already shed her clothes and was now caressing him with her enlarged breasts.

He wished he could fight it, but his body betrayed him traitorously. His erection couldn’t be dismissed and two blonde girls set to pulling his trousers and pants off of him, while the brunette kept shoving her tongue into his mouth, panting lasciviously. Harry rarely indulged himself in masturbation and erotic fantasizing, since there were not many women he could use as a substitute. He used to feel something akin to a sexual attraction towards Ginny in his sixth year, but she rejected him right from the start, and he ceased trying to hook up with somebody else. Hermione was his friend and he felt sickened by the mere idea of… No, she was his friend. Period.

He had his own dark desires, of course. Nobody was perfect, nobody was a saint, and he would have been a fool to think himself different from everybody else. But the problem was that Harry couldn’t distinguish what exactly it was that he desired. Only when he had met Malfoy, something inside of him started forming into a more or less clear understanding of what his heart yarned for. Harry felt ashamed of this yarning even though he hardly realized why. Perhaps, because his classmates at Gryffindor thought it to be disgusting to want to fuck another man, perhaps, because he has never seen a homosexual at Hogwarts, at least never heard of a precedent. Perhaps, because his parents weren’t fond of that sort of physical interaction either, Harry didn’t try to investigate and understand himself better.

But now he was an adult, an independent man, who had already crossed the line, which indicated just how much should he care for others’ opinions. He had already taken the Dark’s side, he had already sold himself to Voldemort – was his suddenly discovered attraction to men going to make this mess any worse? Harry sincerely doubted it. There couldn’t be anything possibly worse than this enslavement of his.

He was attracted to women as well – his rigidly standing cock, that pulsated so nicely in one of the witches’ mouths, was an expressive proof of that. The problem was that Harry didn’t know how to separate sex from feelings, that, in his point of view, were necessary for any kind of relationship. And since he was wary of letting anybody close, was wary of opening up to people, sex seemed to be just as unreachable for him, as was affection, love.

“Yeah, yeah,” he groaned, while two hands pumped his cock in turns, and one hot, wet mouth sucked on it, while the other sucked on his balls.

He had to admit, that Lucius was right after all – he never imagined he needed this so much. And he was capable of ejaculating and enjoying it without any kind of obligation, any kind of feelings behind it. Just pure, primitive, physical necessity, lust, that wasn’t personified, but was rather sensational. The mere thought that three whores were swallowing his sperm turned him on, made him feel dirty and hot, sinful and yet satisfied at the same time.

“Fuck me!” the brunette whined, pulling him to lie on top of her and spreading her thighs, to reveal a meaty, reddened, cleanly shaved lips of her wet vagina. “Fuck me, darling, I want you to come inside me!”

Possessed by his primal instincts, Harry wordlessly complied, absentmindedly wondering how was it possible that humans just always knew what to do when it came to sex. He took his half-hard penis into his hand and quickly pushed it inside her, shuddering and moaning, when he felt that he was surrounded by heat and pleasant wetness. Sucking on one of her huge dark nipples, he started moving back and forth, panting and wheezing quietly. His eyes were tightly shut – he didn’t want to see her face, he simply wanted to come again.

Lucius watched Harry’s small, tight arse tense up with every push and wondered what was the wizard thinking about now. It was obvious there was no passion in his mechanical, hasty movements – he fucked dutifully, as if it was a part of his job. It was his first sex and yet Harry wasn’t particularly enjoying his partners, he was simply getting rid of his frustration. Lucius didn’t know what to make of it: was his desired boy interested in women or not, was he interested in men for that matter? Was he interested in sex at all, or was it something insignificant and purely physical for him? Lucius could accept that, he himself saw it the same way – feelings were quite unnecessary. He had had his few unpleasant experiences, he didn’t want to be scarred any more.

“It’s my turn, my turn!” One of the blondes cried, after Harry came with a low growl, shuddering harshly, as his semen poured out of the slit in between the walls of vagina, that were squeezing his cock. He was once again rolled over, onto his back, and the witch straddled him, pushing his throbbing penis inside her much smaller hole. He lay motionless, with his eyes closed and simply panted in rhythm with her rides.

He isn’t even looking at her, Lucius thought, watching Harry carefully. The wizard was completely detached from what was going on, his mind wandered elsewhere, while his body satisfied its long neglected urges. He came for the last time, barely showing it at all, and sat up tiredly, shaking his head negatively, when the third witch offered him to fuck her too.

“No, thank you, I think I’m done for the night,” he apologized modestly, looking down at the sheets, as if trying to give the whores some privacy. Lucius could only snort at that ridiculous and yet sweet display of nobility.

“Are you sure, kitten?” the girl asked him in a disappointed tone, pouting.

“Yes, yes, I am certain, thank you,” Harry offered her a small smile and turned away completely, to put his trousers on.

The witches left and he let out a breath, finally alone. Not that he didn’t like his first sex, he enjoyed it quite alright, it just felt senseless somehow… As if it lacked something very important. And for Harry, who was keen on designing most precise spells and rituals, all the components were significantly vital for the proper outcome. Therefore, his satisfaction was clearly physical. In his mind, though, and in his heart there still was no peace, no desired easiness. Rubbing on his face wearily and sighing heavily, Harry got up and approached the huge mirror on the opposite wall to look at his own reflection.

Lucius sucked in a sharp breath, when Harry came up so close to him with his swollen cock hanging lankly over his unbuttoned trousers. There was nothing else on him, and the dark wizard took his time to inspect the body, that was just what he imagined it to be, and even better. Lean, broad shouldered, pale, covered in countless moles and tiny scars from, no doubt, multiple quidditch and magical practices. Short, but thick penis, surrounded by sparse black hairs lay on top of a rather big sack of balls, and Lucius allowed his hand to finally caress his own cock, while he kept staring at the boy’s genitals. Next time, he knew, he won’t let him seek help elsewhere – he would show him a real pleasure a man could find in other’s bed.

Harry sleepily blinked at his own reflection, as his own eyes roamed over his form. His nipples were reddened and there was a bruise right next to the base of his penis. Frowning at the evidence of his latest developments, he finally buttoned himself up and turned around to put his shirt on. Yes, now, he was sure, he would fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow – he was practically drained of any power he had previously possessed. Mere moments later Malfoy opened the door and offered him that knowing, cunning smile of his. Without any other words they left the brothel and returned to the manor.

“I hope you are not regretting it, Harry,” Lucius said, when they came to a halt at the wizard’s door. “You still seem burdened with something.”

“No, I did, in fact, enjoy it, just like you said I would, sir,” Harry lifted the corners of his lips up reassuringly. “I… Am simply tired, that is all. But thank you, I appreciate what you did for me tonight. I doubt I would have ever done it for myself.”

“My pleasure, Harry, my pleasure,” Lucius smiled back and walked away, wishing him goodnight. For some reason there was disappointment in his grey eyes, the cause of which remained a mystery to Harry.

He entered his room and moved straight towards his bed, not making any unnecessary moves in order to shed his clothes. He craved some sleep, more than ever, he wanted to sleep all of his worries off. In the last flash of consciousness he reached out for the rose – that Riddle gave him – which still bloomed in the small glass on his bedside table. He pressed the soft bud against his nose and inhaled the wonderful aroma deeply, sighing contentedly. He didn’t mind the sharp thorns pricking his skin – his only wish was to dissolve in this scent forever.

XXX

A week had passed and Harry finally found courage to look at the journal again. It was hard to come in terms with the fact, that it was written by the Dark Lord Voldemort himself – it was hard to wrap one’s mind around just what information was hidden on its pages. The Occlumency and the Ligilimency theory and practice, the spells, the curses, the rituals – all prohibited even under their own creator’s reign… And most importantly, this working diary was the only memoir of the great warlock’s past, the proof of his humanity, the proof that he too was an ordinary boy once…

Harry stood by the shelf in the library and kept staring at the original journal in fascination and terror. It wasn’t hard to conclude that Riddle had hidden his treasured memories here specifically, so that no living soul could find it and use it, for Malfoys rarely visited this part of their vast scientific collection – even elves never came here to clean up. How on earth did Harry even stumble upon it… His pure rotten luck, there was no other explanation for it.

He licked on his dry lips nervously and, having had taken a short sharp breath in, stretched his hand out and placed his fingers onto the soft spine of the green journal and froze in uncertainty. Now that he knew the truth, now that he had accidentally intruded on Voldemort’s private life, he couldn’t let it simply stay here forever and pretend nothing had ever happened. He at first contemplated if he should destroy it altogether – both the original and his copy. However, Harry’s own insatiable hunger for knowledge and magic was much stronger than his common sense. He couldn’t possibly destroy such a great work by a true genius, could he? But when Voldemort finds out what had he done, and there was no doubt that he would find out sooner or later… Harry dreaded to imagine what he would do to him. It was one thing to forgive him for his rather lame espionage, but it was a completely different matter to let him get away with trespassing the boundaries of one’s privacy.

He pulled on the journal and it slid easily out of its place and fell into his hand, suddenly heavy and shaggy to the touch – Harry tightened his grip on its thin form and let out a breath he had been holding. His heart was pounding madly in his ears, as he slowly, as if in a dream, placed the journal into his inner pocket, produced the book of fairy tales out of his other pocket, spelled it clean inside, but just as green and tattered on the outside, and put it into the empty gap. He blew softly, to summon dust and spiderweb – they instantly drew towards the book to complete the broken pattern and make it look untouched, just like it used to be all these years.

The original journal burned on his chest through his shirt, as Harry carried it into his bedroom, feeling like a thief. But there was no going back now. He laughed anxiously at the thought that he might die not because of a treason, but because of his noisiness.

“No surprises should come at the finishing line. Now that I have founded two complicated barriers, the third and the last one is going to be both easy and tricky in its creation. The most difficult task is to find the proof of sustainability of this barrier, that is, to let somebody legilimize me – and that I can not allow. I have been looking for a way out of this for quite some time now, but I found no solution. I can’t just ask D. to intrude on my mind and try to read my thoughts, can I? And there is hardly anybody around here, who is capable of such a complex magic. Thus, I have to admit my defeat for the time being. My only hope is that I might find a master of mind arts somewhere abroad and use him to my benefit…”

Harry rested the journal on his stomach, pondering over what Riddle had written. He was right – there was no other way to know for certain if your mind is well protected but to let somebody in. And that was a preposterous idea! Who would in his sane mind willingly open his soul to another? Harry sighed heavily and returned to his read, creasing his brow anxiously. There wasn’t much left to study – Riddle described his third mind ward and then the diary seemed to have been forgotten. Several empty pages followed the Occlumency practice, and the last fifteen were filled with spell work. But if Voldemort had become a well known master of the mind arts, then he had indeed achieved his goal and managed to protect his mind thoroughly.

Sighing in disappointment, Harry rose up and summoned the paper and the weed, to make a cigarette – he could hardly relax on his own, he felt exhausted and worn out. And seeing the mark on his left forearm every time he dressed, sickened and angered him beyond reason. What seemed strange, though, that ever since he had been marked, Voldemort never once called for him, never invited him over for a talk or a test. Harry felt used. He felt like a character from one of those silly old muggle films, where Chaplin or Lloyd would always slip on the banana skin, even though they see it and try to avoid it at all costs – he fell into an old trap just the same. Hadn’t Lucius told him, that the Dark Lord personally recruited him, when he refused his father’s wishes? It seemed that the great warlock wasn’t averse to doing his dirty job personally.

Harry blew a ring of greenish smoke out and groaned pleasantly at the sensation of numbness that crept through his limbs, at the sensation of lightness in his heavy, aching head. To his own surprise he was once again contemplating an idea of going to brothel, after he had had the taste of such a wonderful physical relief. He couldn’t find any other means that could replace sex – and he was frustrated, terribly. Harry lay back on the pillow, stroking the journal with his free hand, and smoked, staring at the ceiling. No, those girls didn’t turn him on, there was nothing to masturbate to.

He blindly sought for the quill on his bedside table, grabbed on it and, having had sat up a little, wrote on one of the empty pages. “I smoked and I had sex, but I still can’t find any power in myself to build the third barrier.” Somehow it felt right to continue what was left unfinished. The ink dried quickly on the old, yellowish paper. Harry tilted his head to the side, looking at his handwriting, that was so ugly and childish next to Riddle’s perfect flourishes. “Can’t wank, can’t sleep, can’t relax.” He wanted to add that he now understood very well why Voldemort was such a sadist – he couldn’t find any closure and contentment as well, and he had to vent his frustration and anger somehow – but Harry thought better of it.

“Master Harry, sir?” Dobby peeped into his bedroom, pushing his long nose into the gap of the opened door.

“Yes, Dobby, what is it?” Harry greeted him kindly, smiling at the encouraged creature, who came inside and now stood close to him, staring at him with huge adoring eyes.

“A letter for you, Master Harry, from Lord Black.”

“Sirius?”

That was unexpected, they have never exchanged any correspondence during his stay with the Malfoys. Harry hurried to put the journal away and took the small envelop from the elf. It had been checked by Malfoy, of course, if the broken seal was anything to judge by.

Harry,

I’ve heard you had been marked. It’s a shame you couldn’t tell me yourself, but I understand the reasons behind your silence, it’s quite alright, believe me.

I do wish to congratulate you, though. It’s a great achievement at such a young age. I’ve written to Lucius and invited myself to a dinner at the manor. I hadn’t seen Narcissa and Draco in such a long time after all, I might as well catch up with all of you.

See you soon,

Yours,

Sirius

That was suspicious. Harry had no idea why would his godfather want to come and see him now, of all times, why would he want to meet him at the manor where, he very well knew, it wasn’t safe to discuss the Resistance business or any personal matter.


End file.
